E.  H,  PIERCE,. 
OLD  BOOK  SHOP, 

2130  Oxford  St., 
Berkelev.      -      Calif. 


TO  MY  WIFE 


**  There  grows  a  bonnie  brier  bush  in  our  kail-yard, 
And  white  are  the  blossoms  on't  in  our  kail-yard." 


:       J*^- 


Beside   the 
Bonnie  Brier  Bush 


New  York 
Dodd,  Mead  and  Company 


COPYRIGHT,  I894j 


e>4 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

DOMSIE. 

I.  .  A  LAD  o'  PAIRTS,                       .        ,  i 
II.    How    WE    CARRIED    THE   NEWS    TO 

WHINNIE  KNOWE,        ...  13 

III.  IN  MARGET'S  GARDEN,         ...  20 

IV.  A  SCHOLAR'S  FUNERAL,           .        .  29 

A  HIGHLAND  MYSTIC. 

I.    WHAT  EYE  HATH  NOT  SEEN,    .        .  39 

II.    AGAINST  PRINCIPALITIES  AND  POWERS,  49 

HIS  MOTHER'S  SERMON,        ...  59 

THE   TRANSFORMATION    OF    LACK- 
LAN  CAMPBELL. 

I.     A  GRAND  INQUISITOR,     .        .        .  71 

II.     His  BITTER  SHAME,     ....  85 

III.  LIKE  AS  A  FATHER,         .        .        .  100 

IV.  As  A  LITTLE  CHILD,  .        .        .        .112 

THE   CUNNING    SPEECH    OF    DRUM- 

TOCHTY,           .        .        .        .  123, 


264027 


VI  CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

A  WISE  WOMAN. 

I.     OUR  SERMON  TASTER,         .        .        .137 
II.    THE  COLLAPSE  OF  MRS.  MACFADYEN,     147 

A  DOCTOR  OF  THE  OLD  SCHOOL, 

I.    A  GENERAL  PRACTITIONER,         „  /  157 

II.    THROUGH  THE  FLOOD,    .        .        .  170 

III.  A  FIGHT  WITH  DEATH,      .        .  .    ^83 

IV.  THE  DOCTOR'S  LAST  JOURNEY,       .  195 
V*    THE  MOURNING  OF  THE  GLEN,  .  .    207 


DOMSIE. 


A   LAD   O'   PAIRTS. 

THE  Revolution  reached  our  parish  years  ago, 
and  Drumtbchty  has  a  School  Board,  with  a  chair- 
man and  a  clerk,  besides  a  treasurer  and  an  officer. 
Young  Hillocks,  who  had  two  years  in  a  lawyer's 
office,  is  clerk,  and  summons  meetings  by  post, 
although  he  sees  every  member  at  the  market  or 
the  kirk.  Minutes  are  read  with  much  solemnity, 
and  motions  to  expend  ten  shillings  upon  a  coal- 
cellar  door  passed,  on  the  motion  of  Hillocks, 
seconded  by  Drumsheugh,  who  are  both  severely 
prompted  for  the  occasion,  and  move  uneasily 
before  speaking. 

Drumsheugh  was  at  first  greatly  exalted  by  his 
poll,  and  referred  freely  on  market  days  to  his 
"  plumpers,"  but  as  time  went  on  the  irony  of  the 
situation  laid  hold  upon  him. 

"  Think  o'  you  and  me,  Hillocks,  veesitin'  the 
schule  and  sittin'  wi'  bukes  in  oor  hands  watchin' 
the  Inspector.  Keep's  a',  it's  eneuch  to  mak'  the 
auld  Dominie  turn  in  his  grave.  Twa  meenisters 


•  /•!•**•  .*  *  •  •      •  • « •  •  • 

•2  *«    •     *        •     'DOMSIE. 

cam'  in  his  time,  and  Domsie  put  Geordie  Hoo  or 
some  ither  gleg  laddie,  that  was  makin'  for  college, 
thro'  his  facin's,  and  maybe  some  bit  lassie  brocht 
her  copybuke.  Syne  they  had. their  dinner,  and 
Domsie  tae,  wi'  the  Doctor.  Man,  a've  often 
thocht  it  was  the  prospeck  o'  the  Schule  Board  and 
its  weary  bit  rules  that  feenished  Domsie.  He 
wasna  maybe  sae  shairp  at  the  elements  as  this 
pirjinct  body  we  hae  noo,  but  a'body  kent  he  was 
a  terrible  scholar  and  a  credit  tae  the  parish. 
Drumtochty  was  a  name  in  thae  days  wi'  the  lads 
he  sent  tae  college.  It  was  maybe  juist  as  weel  he 
slippit  awa'  when  he  did,  for  he  wud  hae  taen  ill 
with  thae  new  fikes,  and  nae  college  lad  to  warm 
his  hert." 

The  present  school-house  stands  in  an  open 
place  beside  the  main  road  to  Muirtown,  treeless 
and  comfortless,  built  of  red,  staring  stone,  with  a 
playground  for  the  boys  and  another  for  the  girls, 
and  a  trim,  smug-looking  teacher's  house,  all  very 
neat  and  symmetrical,  and  well  regulated.  The 
local  paper  had  a  paragraph  headed  "  Drumtochty," 
written  by  the  Muirtown  architect,  describing  the 
whole  premises  in  technical  language  that  seemed 
to  compensate  the  ratepayers  for  the  cost,  mention- 
ing the  contractor's  name,  and  concluding  that 
"  this  handsome  building  of  the  Scoto-Grecian  style 
was  one  of  the  finest  works  that  had  ever  come  from 
the  accomplished  architect's  hands."  It  has  pitch- 
pine  benches  and  map-cases,  and  a  thermometer 
to  be  kept  at  not  less  than  58°  and  not  more  than 
62°,  and  ventilators  which  the  Inspector  is  careful 


A  LAD  <T  PAIRTS.  3 

to  examine.  When  I  stumbled  in  last  week  the 
teacher  was  drilling  the  children  in  Tonic  Sol-fa 
with  a  little  harmonium,  and  I  left  on  tiptoe. 
'  It  is  difficult  to  live  up  to  this  kind  of  thing,  and 
my  thoughts  drift  to  the  auld  schule-house  and 
Domsie.  Some  one  with  the  love  of  God  in  his 
heart  had  built  it  long  ago,  and  chose  a  site  for  the 
bairns  in  the  sweet  pine  woods  at  the  foot  of  the 
cart  road  to  Whinnie  Knowe  and  the  upland 
farms.  It  stood  in  a  clearing  with  the  tall  Scotch 
firs  round  three  sides,  and  on  the  fourth  a  brake  of 
gorse  and  bramble  bushes,  through  which  there 
was  an  opening  to  the  road.  The  clearing  was 
the  playground,  and  in  summer  the  bairns  annexed 
as  much  wood  as  they  liked,  playing  tig  among 
the  trees,  or  sitting  down  at  dinner-time  on  the 
soft,  dry  spines  that  made  an  elastic  carpet  every- 
where. Domsie  used  to  say  there  were  two  pleas- 
ant sights  for  his  old  eyes  every  day.  One  was  to 
stand  in  the  open  at  dinner-time  and  see  the  flit- 
ting forms  of  the  healthy,  rosy,  sonsie  bairns  in  the 
wood,  and  from  the  door  in  the  afternoon  to  watch 
the  schule  skail  till  each  group  was  lost  in  the 
kindly  shadow,  and  the  merry  shouts  died  away  in 
this  quiet  place.  Then  the  Dominie  took  a  pinch 
of  snuff  and  locked  the  door,  and  went  to  his 
house  beside  the  school.  One  evening  I  came  on 
him  listening  bare-headed  to  the  voices,  and  he 
showed  so  kindly  that  I  shall  take  him  as  he 
stands.  A  man  of  middle  height,  but  stooping  be- 
low it,  with  sandy  hair  turning  to  gray,  and  bushy 
eye-brow  covering  keen,  shrewd  gray  eyes.  You 


4  DOMSIE. 

will  notice  that  his  linen  is  coarse  but  spotless,  and 
that,  though  his  clothes  are  worn  almost  thread- 
bare, they  are  well  brushed  and  orderly.  But  you 
will  be  chiefly  arrested  by  the  Dominie's  coat,  for 
the  like  of  it  was  not  in  the  parish.  It  was  a  black 
dress  coat,  and  no  man  knew  when  it  had  begun 
its  history;  in  its  origin  and  its  continuance 
it  resembled  Melchisedek.  Many  were  the  myths 
that  gathered  round  that  coat,  but  on  this  all  were 
agreed,  that  without  it  we  could  not  have  realized 
the  Dominie,  and  it  became  to  us  the  sign  and 
trappings  of  learning.  He  had  taken  a  high  place 
at  the  University,  and  won  a  good  degree,  and  I've 
heard  the  Doctor  say  that  he  had  a  career  before 
him.  But  something  happened  in  his  life,  and 
Domsie  buried  himself  among  the  woods  with  the 
bairns  of  Drumtochcy.  No  one  knew  the  story, 
but  after  he  died  I  found  a  locket  on  his  breast, 
with  a  proud,  beautiful  face  within,  and  I  have 
fancied  it  was  a  tragedy.  It  may  have  been  in 
substitution  that  he  gave  all  his  love  to  the  chil- 
dren, and  nearly  all  his  money  too,  helping  lads  to 
college,  and  affording  an  inexhaustible  store  of  pep- 
\^permints  for  the  little  ones. 

Perhaps  one  ought  to  have  been  ashamed  of 
that  school-house,  but  yet  it  had  its  own  distinc- 
tion, for  scholars  were  born  there,  and  now  and 
then  to  this  day  some  famous  man  will  come  and 
stand  in  the  deserted  playground  for  a  space.  The 
door  was  at  one  end,  and  stood  open  in  summer 
so  that  the  boys  saw  the  rabbits  come  out  from 
their  holes  on  the  edge  of  the  wood,  and  birds 


A  LAD  6>'  PAIRTS.  5 

sometimes  flew  in  unheeded.  The  fireplace  was 
at  the  other  end,  and  was  fed  in  winter  with  the 
sticks  and  peats  brought  by  the  scholars.  On  one 
side  Domsie  sat  with  the  half-dozen  lads  he  hoped 
t©  send  to  college,  to  whom  he  grudged  no  labour, 
and  on  the  other  gathered  the  very  little  ones,  who 
used  to  warm  their  bare  feet  at  the  fire,  while 
down  the  sides  of  the  room  the  other  scholars  sat 
at  their  rough  old  desks,  working  sums  and  copy- 
ing. Now  and  then  a  class  came  up  and  did  some 
task,  and  at  times  a  boy  got  the  tawse  for  his  neg- 
ligence, but  never  a  girl.  He  kept  the  girls  in 
as  their  punishment,  with  a  brother  to  take  them 
home,  and  both  had  tea  in  Domsie's  house,  with  a 
bit  of  his  best  honey,  departing  much  torn  between 
an  honest  wish  to  please  Domsie  and  a  pardonable 
longing  for  another  tea. 

"  Domsie,"  as  we  called  the  schoolmaster,  behind 
his  back  in  Drumtochty,  because  we  loved  him, 
was  true  to  the  tradition  of  his  kind  and  had  an 
unerring  scent  for  "  pairts "  in  his  laddies,^  He 
could  detect  a  scholar  in  the  egg,  and  prophesied 
Latinity  from  a  boy  that  seemed  fit  only  to  be  a 
cowherd.  /It  was  believed  that  he  had  never  made 
a  mistake  in  judgment,  and  it  was  not  his  blame  if 
the  embryo  scholar  did  not  come  to  birth/  "  Five 
and  thirty  years  have  I  been  minister  at  Drum- 
tochty," the  Doctor  used  to  say  at  school  examina- 
tions, "  and  we  have  never  wanted  a  student  at  the 
University,  and  while  Dominie  Jamieson  lives  we 
never  shall."  Whereupon  Domsie  took  snuff,  and 
assigned  his  share  of  credit  to  the  Doctor,  "  who 


6  DOMSIE. 

gave  the  finish  in  Greek  to  every  lad  of  them,  with- 
out money  and  without  price,  to  make  no  mention 
of  the  higher  mathematics."  Seven  ministers,  four 
schoolmasters,  four  doctors,  one  professor,  and 
three  civil  service  men  had  been  sent  out  by  the 
auld  schule  in  Domsie's  time,  besides  many  that 
"  had  given  themselves  to  mercantile  pursuits," 

He  had  a  leaning  to  classics  and  the  professions, 
but  Domsie  was  catholic  in  his  recognition  of 
"  pairts,"  and  when  the  son  of  Hillocks'  foreman 
made  a  collection  of  the  insects  of  Drumtochty, 
there  was  a  council  at  the  manse.  "  Bumbee 
Willie,"  as  he  had  been  pleasantly  called  by  his 
companions,  was  rescued  from  ridicule  and  encour- 
aged to  fulfil  his  bent.  Once  a  year  a  long  letter 
came  to  Mr.  Patrick  Jamieson,  M.  A.,  Schoolmas- 
ter, Drumtochty,  N.  B.,  and  the  address  within  was 
the  British  Museum.  When  Domsie  read  this  let- 
ter to  the  school,  he  was  always  careful  to  explain 
that  "  Dr.  Graham  is  the  greatest  living  authority 
on  beetles,"  and,  generally  speaking,  if  any  clever 
lad  did  not  care  for  Latin,  he  had  the  alternative  of 
beetles. 

But  it  was  Latin  Domsie  hunted  for  as  for  fine 
gold,  and  when  he  found  the  smack  of  it  in  a 
lad  he  rejoiced  openly.  He  counted  it  a  day  in  his 
life  when  he  knew  certainly  that  he  had  hit  on  an- 
other scholar,  and  the  whole  school  saw  the  iden- 
tification of  George  Howe.  For  a  winter  Domsie 
had  been  "  at  point,"  racing  George  through 
Csesar,  stalking  him  behind  irregular  verbs,  baiting 
traps  with  tit-bits  of  Vergil.  During  these  exer- 


A  LAD  O'  PAIRTS.  7 

cises  Domsie  surveyed  George  from  above  his 
spectacles  with  a  hope  that  grew  every  day  in  as- 
surance, and  came  to  its  height  over  a  bit  of  Latin 
prose.  Domsie  tasted  it  visibly,  and  read  it  again 
in  the  shadow  of  the  firs  at  meal-time,  slapping  his 
leg  twice. 

"  He'll  dae !  he'll  dae ! "  cried  Domsie  aloud, 
ladling  in  the  snuff.  "George,  ma  mannie,  tell 
yir  father  that  I  am  comin'  up  to  Whinnie  Knowe 
the  nicht  on  a  bit  o'  business." 

Then  the  "schule  "  knew  that  Geordie  Hoo  was 
marked  for  college,  and  pelted  him  with  fir  cones 
in  great  gladness  of  heart. 

"  Whinnie "  was  full  of  curiosity  over  the 
Dominie's  visit,  and  vexed  Marget  sorely,  to  whom 
Geordie  had  told  wondrous  things  in  the  milk- 
house.  "  It  canna  be  coals  'at  he's  wantin'  frae 
the  station,  for  there's  a  fell  puckle  left." 

"  And  it'll  no  be  seed  taties,"  she  said,  pursuing  the 
principle  of  exhaustion,  "  for  he  hes  some  Perthshire 
reds  himsel'.  I  doot  it's  somethin'  wrang  with 
Geordie,"  and  Whinnie  started  on  a  new  track. 

"  He's  been  playin'  truant  maybe.  A'  mind 
gettin'  ma  paiks  for  birdnestin'  masel.  I'll  wager 
that's  the  verra  thing." 

"  Weel,  yir  wrang,  Weelum,"  broke  in  Marget, 
Whinnie's  wife,  a  tall,  silent  woman,  with  a  speak- 
ing face  ;;  "  it's  naither  the  ae  thing  nor  the  ither, 
but  something  I've  been  prayin'  for  since  Geordie 
was  a  wee  bairn.  Clean  yirsel'  and  meet  Domsie 
on  the  road,  for  nae  man  deserves  more  honour 
in  Drumtochty,  naither  laird  nor  farmer." 


8  DOMSIE. 

Conversation  with  us  was  a  leisurely  game, 
with  slow  movements  and  many  pauses,  and  it 
was  our  custom  to  handle  all  the  pawns  before 
we  brought  the  queen  into  action. 

Domsie  and  Whinnie  discussed  the  weather 
with  much  detail  before  they  came  in  sight  of 
George,  but  it  was  clear  that  Domsie  was  charged 
with  something  weighty,  and  even  Whinnie  felt 
that  his  own  treatment  of  the  turnip  crop  was 
wanting  in  repose. 

At  last  Domsie  cleared  his  throat  and  looked 
at  Marget,  who  had  been  in  and  out,  but  ever 
within  hearing. 

"  George  is  a  fine  laddie,  Mrs.  Howe." 

An  ordinary  Drumtochty  mother,  although 
bursting  with  pride,  would  have  responded,  "  He's 
weel  eneuch,  if  he  hed  grace  in  his  heart,"  in 
a  tone  that  implied  it  was  extremely  unlikely, 
and  that  her  laddie  led  the  reprobates  of  the 
parish.  As  it  was,  Marget's  face  lightened,  and 
she  waited. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  making  him.?  "  and  the 
Dominie  dropped  the  words  slowly,  for  this  was  a 
moment  in  Drumtochty. 

(There  was  just  a  single  ambition  in  those  humble 
homes,  to  have  one  of  its  members  at  college,  and 
if  Domsie  approved  a  lad,  then  his  brothers  and 
sisters  would  give  their  wages,  and  the  family 
would  live  on  skim  milk  and  oat  cake,  to  let  him 
have  his  chance. 

Whinnie  glanced  at  his  wife  and  turned  to 
Domsie. 


A  LAD  O'  PAIXTS.  9 

"  Marget's  set  on  seein'  Geordie  a  minister, 
Dominie." 

"  If  he's  worthy  o't,  no  otherwise.  We  haena 
the  means,  though  ;  the  farm  is  highly  rented,  and 
there's  barely  a  penny  over  at  the  end  o'  the  year." 

"  But  you  are  willing  George  should  go  and  see 
what  he  can  do.  If  he  disappoint  you,  then  I 
dinna  know  a  lad  o'  pairts  when  I  see  him,  and  the 
Doctor  is  with  me." 

"  Maister  Jamieson,"  said  Marget,  with  great 
solemnity,  "  ma  hert's  desire  is  to  see  George  a 
minister,  and  if  the  Almichty  spared  me  to  hear 
my  only  bairn  open  his  mooth  in  the  Evangel,  I 
wud  hae  naething  mair  to  ask — but  I  doot  sair  it 
canna  be  managed." 

Domsie  had  got  all  he  asked,  and  he  rose  in  his 
strength. 

"  If  George  Howe  disna  get  to  college,  then  heis 
the  first  scholar  I've  lost  in  Drumtochty — ye  'ill 
manage  his  keep  and  sic  like  ?  " 

"  Nae  fear  o'  that,"  for  Whinnie  was  warming, 
"  tho'  I  haena  a  steek  [stitch]  o'  new  claithes  for 
four  years.  But  what  aboot  his  fees  and  ither 
ootgaeins  ?  " 

"  There's  ae  man  in  the  parish  can  pay  George's 
fees  without  missing  a  penny,  and  I'll  warrant  he 
'ill  dae  it." 

"  Are  ye  meanin'  Drurnsheugh  ?  "  said  Whinnie, 
"  for  ye  'ill  never  get  a  penny  piece  oot  o'  him.  Did 
ye  no  hear  hoo  the  Frees  wiled  him  intae  their 
kirk,  Sabbath  past  a  week,  when  Netherton's 
sister's  son  frae  Edinboro'  wes  preaching  the  mis- 


10  DOMSIE. 

sionary  sermon,  expectin'  a  note,  and  if  he  didna 
change  a  shillin'  at  the  public-hoose  and  pit  in  a 
penny.  Sail,  he's  a  lad  Drumsheugh  ;  a'm  think- 
ing ye  may  save  yir  journey,  Dominie." 

But  Marget  looked  away  from  her  into  the  past, 
and  her  eyes  had  a  tender  light.  "  He  hed  the 
best  hert  in  the  pairish  aince." 

Domsie  found  Drumsheugh  inclined  for  com- 
pany, and  assisted  at  an  exhaustive  and  caustic 
treatment  of  local  affairs.  When  the  conduct 
of  Piggie  Walker,  who  bought  Drumsheugh's 
potatoes  and  went  into  bankruptcy  without  paying 
for  a  single  tuber,  had  been  characterised  in  lan- 
guage that  left  nothing  to  be  desired,  Drumsheugh 
began  to  soften  and  show  signs  of  reciprocity. 

"  Hoo's  yir  laddies,  Dominie?"  whom  the 
farmers  regarded  as  a  risky  turnip  crop  in  a 
stiff  clay  that  Domsie  had  "to  fecht  awa  in." 
"  Are  ony  o'  them  shaping  weel  ?  " 

Drumsheugh  had  given  himself  away,  and 
Domsie  laid  his  first  parallel  with  a  glowing 
account  of  George  Howe's  Latinity,  which  was 
well  received. 

"  Weel,  I'm  gled  tae  hear  sic  accoonts  o'  Marget 
Hoo's  son  ;  there's  naething  in  Whinnie  but  what 
the  spune  puts  in." 

But  at  the  next  move  Drumsheugh  scented 
danger  and  stood  at  guard.  "  Na,  na,  Dominie, 
I  see  what  yir  aifter  fine  ;  ye  mind  hoo  ye  got 
three  notes  oot  o'  me  at  Perth  market  Martinmas 
a  year  past  for  ane  o'  yir  college  laddies.  Five 
punds  for  four  years ;  my  word,  yir  no  blate 


A  LAD  O'  PAIRTS.  « 

[modest].  And  what  for  sud  I  educat  Marget 
Hoo's  bairn  ?  If  ye  kent  a*  ye  wudna  ask  me  \ 
it's  no  reasonable,  Dominie.  So  there's  an  end 
o't." 

Domsie  was  only  a  pedantic  old  parish  school- 
master, and  he  knew  little  beyond  his  craft,  but 
the  spirit  of  the  Humanists  awoke  within  him,  and 
he  smote  with  all  his  might,  bidding  good-bye  to 
his  English  [as  one  flings  away  the  scabbard  of 
a  swordy 

"  Ye  think  that  a'm  asking  a  great  thing  when 
I  plead  for  a  pickle  notes  to  give  a  puir  laddie 
a  college  education.  I  tell  ye,  man,  a'm  honourin* 
ye  and  givin'  ye  the  fairest  chance  ye'll  ever  hae 
o*  winning  wealth.  Gin  ye  store  the  money  ye 
hae  scrapit  by  mony  a  hard  bargain,  some  heir 
ye  never  saw  'ill  gar  it  flee  in  chambering  and 
wantonness.  Gin  ye  hed  the  heart  to  spend  it 
on  a  lad  o'  pairts  like  Geordie  Hoo,  ye  wud  hae 
twa  rewards  nae  man  could  tak  fra  ye.  Ane  wud 
be  the  honest  gratitude  o'  a  laddie  whose  desire 
for  knowledge  ye  hed  sateesfied,  and  the  second 
wud  be  this — anither  scholar  in  the  land ;  and  a'm 
thinking  with  auld  John  Knox  that  ilka  scholar 
is  something  added  to  the  riches  of  the  common- 
wealth. And  what  'ill  it  cost  ye  ?  Little  mair 
than  the  price  o'  a  cattle  beast.  Man,  Drums- 
heugh,  ye  poverty-stricken  cratur,  I've  naethin' 
in  this  world  but  a  handfu'  o'  books  and  a  ten- 
pund  note  for  my  funeral,  and  yet,  if  it  wasna 
I  have  all  my  brither's  bairns  tae  keep,  I  wud  pay 
every  penny  mysel' !  But  I'll  no  see  Geordie  sent 


12  DOMSIE. 

to  the  plough,  tho'  I  gang  frae  door  to  door.  Na, 
na,  the  grass  'ill  no  grow  on  the  road  atween  the 
college  and  the  schule-hoose  o'  Drumtochty  till 
they  lay  me  in  the  auld  kirkyard  !  " 

"  Sail,  Domsie  was  roosed,"  Drumsheugh 
explained  in  the  Muirtown  inn  next  market. 
"  '  Miserly  wratch  '  was  the  ceevilest  word  on  his 
tongue.  He  wud  naither  sit  nor  taste,  and  was 
half-way  doon  the  yaird  afore  I  cud  quiet  him. 
An*  a'm  no  sayin'  he  hed  na  reason  if  I'd  been 
meanin'  a*  I  said.  It  wud  be  a  scan'al  to  the 
pairish  if  a  likely  lad  cudna  win  tae  college  for  the 
want  o'  siller.  Na,  na,  neeburs,  we  hae  oor  faults, 
but  we're  no  sae  dune  mean  as  that  in  Drum- 
tochty." 

As  it  was,  when  Domsie  did  depart,  he  could 
only  grip  Drumsheugh's  hand,  and  say  Maecenas, 
and  was  so  intoxicated,  but  not  with  strong  drink, 
that  he  explained  to  Hillocks  on  the  way  home  that 
Drumsheugh  would  be  a  credit  to  Drumtochty, 
and  that  his  Latin  style  reminded  him  of  Cicero. 
He  added  as  an  after-thought  that  Whinnie  Knowe 
had  promised  to  pay  Drumsheugh's  fees  for  four 
years  at  the  University  of  Edinburgh. 


II. 


HOW  WE  CARRIED  THE  NEWS  TO  WHINNIE 
KNOWE. 

DOMSIE  was  an  artist,  and  prepared  the  way  for 
George's  University  achievement  with  much  cun- 
ning. Once  every  Sabbath  in  the  kirk-yard,  where 
he  laid  down  the  law  beneath  an  old  elm  tree,  and 
twice  between  Sabbaths,  at  the  post-office  and  by 
.  the  wayside,  he  adjured  us  not  to  expect  beyond 
measure,  and  gave  us  reasons. 

"  Ye  see,  he  has  a  natural  talent  for  learning,  and 
took  to  Latin  like  a  duck  to  water.  What  could 
be  done  in  Drumtochty  was  done  for  him,  and  he's 
working  night  and  day,  but  he'll  have  a  sore  fight 
with  the  lads  from  the  town  schools.  Na,  na, 
neighbours,"  said  the  Dominie,  lapsing  into  dialect, 
"  we  daurna  luik  for  a  prize.  No  the  first  year,  at 
ony  rate." 

"  Man,  Dominie.  A'm  clean  astonished  at  ye," 
Drumsheugh  used  to  break  in,  who,  since  he  had 
given  to  George'  s  support,  outran  us  all  in  his 
faith,  and  had  no  patience  with  Domsie's  devices ; 
"  af  tell  ye  if  Geoix  Jisna  get  a  first  in  every  class 
he's  entered  for,  the  judges  'ill  be  a  puir  lot,"  with 
a  fine  confusion  of  circumstances. 
13 


14  DO  MSI E. 

"  Losh,  Drumsheugh,  be  quiet,  or  ye'll  clae  the 
laddie  an  injury,"  said  Domsie,  with  genuine  alarm. 
"  We  maunna  mention  prizes,  and  first  is  fair 
madness.  A  certificate  of  honour  now,  that  will 
be  aboot  it,  may  be  next  to  the  prizemen." 

Coming  home  from  market  he  might  open  his 
heart.  "  George  'ill  be  amang  the  first  sax,  or  my 
name  is  no  Jamieson,"  but  generally  he  prophesied 
a  moderate  success.  There  were  times  when  he 
affected  indifference,  and  talked  cattle.  We  then 
regarded  him  with  awe,  because  this  was  more 
than  mortal. 

It  was  my  luck  to  carry  the  bulletin  to  Domsie, 
and  I  learned  what  he  had  been  enduring.  It  was 
good  manners  in  Drumtochty  to  feign  amazement 
at  the  sight  of  a  letter,  and  to  insist  that  it, 
must  be  intended  for  some  other  person.  When  it 
was  finally  forced  upon  one,  you  examined  the 
handwriting  at  various  angles  and  speculated  about 
the  writer.  Some  felt  emboldened,  after  these 
precautions,  to  open  the  letter,  but  this  haste  was 
considered  indecent.  When  Posty  handed  Drum- 
sheugh the  factor's  letter,  with  the  answer  to  his 
offer  for  the  farm,  he  only  remarked,  "  It  '11  be  frae 
the  factor,"  and  harked  back  to  a  polled  Angus 
bull  he  had  seen  at  the  show.  "  Sail,"  said  Posty 
in  the  kirkyard  with  keen  relish,  "ye'll  never  flurry 
Drumsheugh."  Ordinary  letters  were  read  in  leis- 
urely retirement,  and,  in  case  of  urgency,  answered 
within  the  week. 

Domsie  clutched  the  letter,  and  would  have 
torn  off  the  envelope.  But  he  could  not ;  his 


HOW  WE  CARRIED  THE  NEWS.  1 5 

hand  was  shaking  like  an  aspen.     He  could  only 
look,  and  I  read  : 

"  DEAR  MR.  JAMIESON  : 

"  The  class  honour  lists  are  just  out,  and  you  will 
be  pleased  to  know  that  I  have  got  the  medal  both 
in  the  Humanity  and  the  Greek." 

There  was  something  about  telling  his  mother, 
and  his  gratitude  to  his  schoolmaster,  but  Domsie 
heard  no  more.  He  tried  to  speak  and  could  not, 
for  a  rain  of  tears  was  on  his  hard  old  face, 
Domsie  was  far  more  a  pagan  than  a  saint,  but 
somehow  he  seemed  to  me  that  day  as  Simeon,  who- 
had  at  last  seen  his  heart's  desire,  and  was  satisfied. 
When  the  school  had  dispersed  with  a  joyful 
shout,  and  disappeared  in  the  pine  woods,  he  said, 
"  Ye'll  come  too,"  and  I  knew  he  was  going  to- 
Whinnie  Knowe.  He  did  not  speak  one  word 
upon  the  way,  but  twice  he  stood  and  read  the 
letter,  which  he  held  fast  in  his  hand.  His  face 
was  set  as  he  climbed  the  cart  track.  I  saw  it 
set  again  as  we  came  down  that  road  one  day,  but 
it  was  well  that  we  could  not  pierce  beyond  the 
present. 

Whinnie  left  his  plough  in  the  furrow,  and  came 
to  meet  us,  taking  two  drills  at  a  stride,  and  shout- 
ing remarks  on  the  weather  yards  off. 

Domsie  only  lifted  the  letter.     "  Frae  George." 
"  Ay,  ay,  and  what's  he  gotten  noo?  " 
Domsie     solemnly    unfolded     the     letter,    and 
brought     down     his     spectacles.      "  Edinburgh, 


1 6  DOMSIE. 

April  7th."  Then  he  looked  at  Whinnie  and 
closed  his  mouth. 

"  We'll  tell  it  first  to  his  mither." 

"Yer  richt,  Dominie.  She  weel  deserves  it. 
A'm  thinking  she's  seen  us  by  this  time."  So 
we  fell  into  a  procession,  Dominie  leading  by 
two  yards  ;  and  then  a  strange  thing  happened. 
For  the  first  and  last  time  in  his  life  Domsie 
whistled,  and  the  tune  was  "A  hundred  pipers 
and  a'  and  a,"  and  as  he  whistled  he  seemed  to 
dilate  before  our  eyes,  and  he  struck  down  thistles 
with  his  stick — a  thistle  at  every  stroke. 

"  Domsie's  fair  carried,"  whispered  Whinnie, 
"  it  cowes  a'." 

Marget  met  us  at  the  end  of  the  house  be- 
side the  brier  bush,  where  George  was  to  sit  on 
summer  afternoons  before  he  died,  and  a  flash 
passed  between  Domsie  and  the  lad's  mother. 
Then  she  knew  that  it  was  well,  and  fixed  her 
eyes  on  the  letter,  but  Whinnie,  his  thumbs  in 
his  armholes,  watched  the  wife. 

Domsie  now  essayed  to  read  the  news,  but 
between  the  shaking  of  his  hands  and  his  voice 
he  could  not. 

"  It's  nae  use,"  he  cried,  "  he's  first  in  the 
Humanity  oot  o'  a  hundred  and  seeventy  lads, 
first  o'  them  a',  and  he's  first  in  the  Greek  too  ; 
the  like  o'  this  is  hardly  known,  and  it  hasna  been 
seen  in  Drumtochty  since  there  was  a  schule. 
That's  the  word  he's  sent,  and  he  bade  me  tell  his 
mother  without  delay,  and  I  am  here  as  fast  as  my 
old  feet  could  carry  me." 


HOW  WE  CARRIED  THE  NEWS.  IT 

I  glanced  round,  although  I  did  not  myself  see 
very  clearly. 

Marget  was  silent  for  the  space  of  five  seconds ; 
she  was  a  good  woman,  and  I  knew  that  better 
afterwards.  She  took  the  Dominie's  hand,  and 
said  to  him,  "  Under  God  this  was  your  doing, 
Maister  Jamieson,  and  for  your  reward  ye'ill  get 
naither  silver  nor  gold,  but  ye  hae  a  mither's 
gratitude." 

Whinnie  gave  a  hoarse  chuckle  and  said  to  his 
wife,  "  It  was  frae  you,  Marget,  he  got  it  a'." 

When  we  settled  in  the  parlour  Domsie's  tongue 
was  loosed,  and  he  lifted  up  his  voice  and  sang  the 
victory  of  Geordie  Hoo. 

"  It's  ten  years  ago  at  the  brak  up  o'  the  winter 
ye  brought  him  down  to  me,  Mrs.  Hoo,  and  ye 
said  at  the  schule-hoose  door,  '  Dinna  be  hard  on 
him,  Maister  Jamieson,  he's  my  only  bairn,  and 
a  wee  thingie  quiet/  Div  ye  mind  what  I  said, 
'  There's  something  ahint  that  face/  and  my  heart 
warmed  to  George  that  hour.  Two  years  after 
the  Doctor  examined  the  schule,  and  he  looks  at 
George,  '  That's  a  likely  lad,  Dominie.  What 
think  ye?'  And  he  was  only  eight  years  auld, 
and  no  big  for  his  size.  '  Doctor,  I  daurna  proph- 
esy till  we  turn  him  into  the  Latin,  but  a've  my 
thoughts/  So  I  had  a'  the  time,  but  I  never 
boasted ;  na,  na,  that's  dangerous.  Didna  I  say, 
'  Ye  hev  a  promisin'  laddie,  Whinnie/  ae  day  in  the 
market  ?  " 

"  It's  a  fac',"  said  Whinnie,  "  it  wes  the  day  I 
bocht  the  white  coo/'  But  Domsie  swept  on. 


*8  DOMSIE. 

"  The  first  year  o'  Latin  was  enough  for  me. 
He  juist  nippet  up  his  verbs.  Caesar  couldna 
keep  him  going ;  he  wes  into  Vergil  afore  he  wes 
eleven,  and  the  Latin  prose,  man,  as  sure  as  a'm 
living,  it  tasted  o'  Cicero  frae  the  beginning." 

Whinnie  wagged  his  head  in  amazement. 

"  It  was  the  verra  nicht  o'  the  Latin  prose  I  cam 
up  to  speak  aboot  the  college,  and  ye  thocht  Geor- 
die  hed  been  playing  truant." 

Whinnie  laughed  uproariously,  but  Domsie 
heeded  not. 

"  It  was  awfu'  work  the  next  twa  years,  but  the 
Doctor  stood  in  wee!  wi'  the  Greek.  Ye  mind  hoo 
Geordie  tramped  ower  the  muir  to  the  manse 
thro'  the  weet  an'  the  snaw,  and  there  wes  aye  dry 
stockings  for  him  in  the  kitchen  afore  he  had  his 
Greek  in  the  Doctor's  study." 

"  And  a  warm  drink  tae,"  put  in  Margaret, 
"and  that's  the  window  I  pit  the  licht  in  to  guide 
him  hame  in  the  dark  winter  nichts,  and  mony  a 
time  when  the  sleet  played  swish  on  the  glass  I 
wes  near  wishin' "  Domsie  waved  his  hand. 

"But  that's  dune  wi'  noo,  and  he  was  worth  a' 
the  toil  and  trouble.  First  in  the  Humanity,  and 
first  in  the  Greek,  sweepit  the  field,  Lord  preserve 
us  !  A'  can  hardly  believe  it.  Eh,  I  was  feared  o' 
thae  High  School  lads.  They  had  terrible  advan- 
tages. Maisters  frae  England,  and  tutors,  and 
whatna',  but  Drumtochty  carried  aff  the  croon. 
It  '11  be  fine  reading  in  the  papers  : 

"'  Humanity. — First  Prize  (and  Medal),  George 
Howe.  Drumtochty,  Perthshire. 


HOW  WE  CARRIED  THE  NEWS.  1 9 

" '  Greek. — First  Prize  (and  Medal),  George 
Howe,  Drumtochty,  Perthshire/  " 

"  It'll  be  michty,"  cried  Whinnie,  now  fairly  on 
fire. 

"  And  Philosophy  and  Mathematics  to  come. 
Geordie's  no  bad  at  Euclid.  I'll  wager  he'll  be 
first  there  too.  When  he  gets  his  hand  in  there's 
naething  he's  no  fit  for  wi'  time.  My  ain  laddie — 
and  the  Doctor's — we  maunna  forget  him— it's  his 
classics  he  hes,  every  book  o'  them.  The  Doctor 
'11  be  lifted  when  he  comes  back  on  Saturday.  A'm 
thinkin'  we'll  hear  o't  on  Sabbath.  And  Drum- 
sheugh,  he'll  be  naither  to  had  nor  bind  in  the 
kirk-yard.  As  for  me,  I  wadna  change  places  wi' 
the  Duke  o'  Athole,"  and  Domsie  shook  the  table 
to  its  foundation. 

Then  he  awoke,  as  from  a  dream,  and  the  shame 
of  boasting  that  shuts  the  mouths  of  self-respecting 
Scots  descended  upon  him. 

"  But  this  is  fair  nonsense.  Ye'll  no  mind  the 
havers  o'  an  auld  dominie." 

He  fell  back  on  a  recent  roup,  and  would  not 
again  break  away,  although  sorely  tempted  by  cer- 
tain of  Whinnie's  speculations. 

When  I  saw  him  last,  his  coat-tails  were  waving 
victoriously  as  he  leaped  a  dyke  on  his  way  to  tell 
our  Drumtochty  Maecenas  that  the  judges  knew 
their  business. 


III. 

IN  MARGET'S  GARDEN. 

THE  cart  track  to  Whinnie  Knowe  was  com- 
manded by  a  gable  window,  and  Whinnie  boasted 
that  Marget  had  never  been  taken  unawares. 
Tramps  finding  every  door  locked,  and  no  sign  of 
life  anywhere,  used  to  express  their  mind  in  the 
"  close,"  and  return  by  the  way  they  came,  while 
ladies  from  Kildrummie,  fearful  lest  they  should 
put  Mrs.  Howe  out,  were  met  at  the  garden  gate 
by  Marget  in  her  Sabbath  dress,  and  brought  into 
a  set  tea  as  if  they  had  been  invited  weeks  before. 

Whinnie  gloried  most  in  the  discomfiture  of  the 
Tory  agent,  who  had  vainly  hoped  to  coerce  him 
in  the  stack-yard  without  Marget's  presence,  as 
her  intellectual  contempt  for  the  Conservative 
party  knew  no  bounds. 

"Sail  she  saw  him  slip  aff  the  road  afore  the 
last  stile,  and  wheep  roond  the  fit  o'  the  gairden 
wa'  like  a  tod  [fox]  aifter  the  chickens. 

"'It's  a  het  day,  Maister  Anderson/  says  Mar- 
get  frae  the  gairden,  lookin'  doon  on  him  as  calm 
as  ye  like.  '  Yir  surely  no  gaein'  to  pass  oor  hoose 
without  a  gless  o'  milk?  ' 

"  Wud  ye  believe  it,  he  wes  that  upset  he  left 


IN  MARGET'S  GARDEN.  21 

withoot  sayin'  '  vote/  and  Drumsheugh  telt  me 
next  market  that  his  langidge  aifterwards  cudna 
be  printed." 

When  George  came  home  for  the  last  time, 
Marget  went  back  and  forward  all  afternoon  from 
his  bedroom  to  the  window,  and  hid  herself  be- 
neath the  laburnum  to  see  his  face  as  the  cart 
stood  before  the  stile.  It  told  her  plain  what  she 
had  feared,  and  Marget  passed  through  her  Geth- 
semane  with  the  gold  blossoms  falling  on  her  face. 
When  their  eyes  met,  and  before  she  helped  him 
down,  mother  and  son  understood. 

"  Ye  mind  what  I  told  ye,  o'  the  Greek  mothers, 
the  day  I  left.  Weel,  I  wud  hae  liked  to  have  car- 
ried my  shield,  but  it  wasna  to  be,  so  I've  come 
home  on  it."  As  they  went  slowly  up  the  garden 
walk,  "I've  got  my  degree,  a  double  first,  mathe- 
matics and  classics." 

"Ye've  been  a  gude  soldier,  George,  and 
faithfu'." 

44  Unto  death,  a'm  clootin',  mother." 

"  Na,"  said  Marget,  "  unto  life." 

Drumtochty  was  not  a  heartening  place  in  sick- 
ness, and  Marget,  who  did  not  think  our  thoughts, 
endured  much  consolation  at  her  neighbour's 
hands.  It  is  said  that  in  cities  visitors  congratu- 
late a  patient  on  his  good  looks,  and  deluge  his 
family  with  instances  of  recovery.  This  would 
have  seemed  to  us  shallow  and  unfeeling,  besides 
being  a  "  temptin'  o'  Providence,"  which  might  riot 
have  intended  to  go  to  extremities,  but  on  a 
challenge  of  this  kind  had  no  alternative.  Sickness 


22  DOMSIE. 

was  regarded  as  a  distinction  tempered  with  judg- 
ment, and  favoured  people  found  it  difficult  to  be 
humble.  I  always  thought  more  of  Peter  Mac- 
intosh, when  the  mysterious"  tribble  "  that  needed 
the  Perth  doctor  made  no  difference  in  his  manner, 
and  he  passed  his  snuff  box  across  the  seat  before 
the  long  prayer  as  usual,  but  in  this  indifference  to 
privileges  Peter  was  exceptional. 

You  could  never  meet  Kirsty  Stewart  on  equal 
terms,  although  she  was  quite  affable  to  any  one 
who  knew  his  place. 

"  Ay,"  she  said,  on  my  respectful  allusion  to  her 
experience,  "  a've  seen  mair  than  most.  It  doesna 
become  me  to  boast,  but  tho'  I  say  it  as  sudna,  I 
hae  buried  a'  my  ain  fouk." 

Kirsty  had  a  "  way  "  in  sick  visiting,  consisting 
in  a  certain  cadence  of  the  voice  and  arrangement 
of  the  face,  which  was  felt  to  be  soothing  and 
complimentary. 

"  Yir  aboot  again,  a'm  glad  to  see/'  to  me  after 
my  accident,  "  but  yir  no  dune  wi'  that  leg ;  na,  na, 
Jeems — that  was  ma  second  son — scrapit  his  shin 
aince,  tho'  no  so  bad  as  ye've  dune,  a'm  hearing 
[for  I  had  denied  Kirsty  the  courtesy  of  an  inspec- 
tion]. It's  sax  year  syne  noo,  and  he  got  up  and 
wes  traivellin'  fell  hearty  like  yersel'.  But  he  be- 
good  to  dwam  [sicken]  in  the  end  of  the  year,  and 
soughed  awa'  in  the  spring.  Ay,  ay,  when  tribble 
comes  ye  never  ken  hoo  it  'ill  end.  A*  thocht  I 
wud  come  up  and  speir  for  ye.  A  body  needs 
comfort  gin  he's  sober  [ill]." 

When    I    found   George   wrapped  in   his   plaid 


IN  MA  RGB  T'S  GA  RDEN.  23 

beside  the  brier  bush,  whose  roses  were  no  whiter 
than  his  cheeks,  Kirsty  was  already  installed  as 
comforter  in  the  parlour,  and  her  drone  came 
through  the  open  window. 

"  Ay,  ay,  Marget,  sae  it's  come  to  this.  Weel, 
we  daurna  complain,  ye  ken.  Be  thankfu*  ye 
haena  lost  your  man  and  five  sons,  besides  twa 
sisters  and  a  brither,  no  to  mention  cousins.  That 
wud  be  something  to  speak  aboot,  and  Losh  keep's, 
there's  nae  saying  but  he  micht  hang  on  a  whilie. 
Ay,  ay,  it's  a  sair  blow  aifter  af  that  wes  in  the 
papers.  I  wes  feared  when  I  heard  o'  the  papers ; 
'  Lat  weel  alane,'  says  I  to  the  Dominie ;  '  ye  'ill 
bring  a  judgment  on  the  laddie  wi'  yir  blawing.' 
But  ye  micht  as  weel  hae  spoken  to  the  hills. 
Domsie's  a  thrann  body  at  the  best,  and  he  was 
clean  infatuat'  wi'  George.  Ay,  ay,  it's  an  awfu* 
lesson,  Marget,  no  to  mak'  idols  o'  our  bairns,  for 
that's  naethin'  else  than  provokin'  the  Almichty." 

It  was  at  this  point  that  Marget  gave  way  and 
scandalised  Drumtochty,  which  held  that  obtrusive 
prosperity  was  an  irresistible  provocation  to  the 
higher  powers,  and  that  a  skilful  deprecation  of 
our  children  was  a  policy  of  safety. 

"  Did  ye  say  the  Almichty  ?  I'm  thinkin'  that's 
ower  grand  a  name  for  your  God,  Kirsty.  What 
wud  ye  think  o'  a  faither  that  brocht  hame  some 
bonnie  thing  frae  the  fair  for  ane  o'  his  bairns,  and 
when  the  puir  bairn  wes  pleased  wi'  it,  tore  it  oot 
o'  his  hand  and  flung  it  into  the  fire  ?  Eh,  woman, 
he  wud  be  a  meeserable,  cankered,  jealous  body. 
Kirsty,  wumman,  when  the  Almichty  sees  a  mither 


24  DOMSIE. 

bound  up  in  her  laddie,  I  tell  ye  He  is  sair  pleased 
in  His  heaven,  for  mind  ye  hoo  He  loved  His  ain 
Son.  Besides,  a'm  judgin'  that  nane  o'  us  can 
love  anither  withoot  lovin'  Him,  or  hurt  anither 
withoot  hurtin'  Him. 

"  Oh,  I  ken  weel  that  George  is  gaein'  to  leave  us  ; 
but  it's  no  because  the  Almichty  is  jealous  o'  him 
or  me,  no  likely.  It  cam'  to  me  last  nicht  that  He 
needs  my  laddie  for  some  grand  wark  in  the  ither 
world,  and  that's  hoo  George  has  his  bukes  brocht 
oot  tae  the  garden  and  studies  a*  the  day.  He 
wants  to  be  ready  for  his  kingdom,  just  as  he 
trachled  in  the  bit  schule  o'  Drumtochty  for  Edin- 
boro'.  I  hoped  he  would  hae  been  a  minister  o' 
Christ's  Gospel  here,  but  he  'ill  be  judge  over  many 
cities  yonder.  A'm  no  denyin',  Kirsty,  that  it's  a 
trial,  but  I  hae  licht  on  it,  and  naethin'  but  gude 
thochts  o'  the  Almichty." 

Drumtochty  understood  that  Kirsty  had  dealt 
faithfully  with  Marget  for  pride  and  presumption, 
but  all  we  heard  was,  "  Losh  keep  us  a'." 

When  Marget  came  out  and  sat  down  beside 
her  son,  her  face  was  shining.  Then  she  saw  the 
open  window. 

"  I  didna  ken." 

"Never  mind,  mither,  there's  nae  secrets  atween 
us,  and  it  gar'd  my  heart  leap  to  hear  ye  speak  up 
like  yon  for  God,  and  to  know  yir  content.  Div  ye 
mind  the  nicht  I  called  for  ye,  mother,  and  ye  gave 
me  the  Gospel  aboot  God  ?  " 

Marget  slipped  her  hand  into  George's,  and  he 
let  his  head  rest  on  her  shoulder.  The  likeness 


IN  MARGET^S  GARDEN.  25 

flashed  upon  me  in  that  moment,  the  earnest  deep- 
set  gray  eyes,  the  clean-cut  firm  jaw,  and  the  tender 
mobile  lips,  that  blend  of  apparent  austerity  and 
underlying  romance  that  make  the  pathos  of  a 
Scottish  face. 

"  There  had  been  a  Revival  man  here,"  George 
explained  to  me,  "  and  he  was  preaching  on  hell. 
As  it  grew  dark  a  candle  was  lighted,  and  I  can 
still  see  his  face  as  in  a  picture,  a  hard-visaged 
man.  He  looked  down  at  us  laddies  in  the  front, 
and  asked  us  if  we  knew  what  like  hell  was.  By 
this  time  we  were  that  terrified  none  of  us  could 
speak,  but  I  whispered  '  No.f 

"  Then  he  rolled  up  a  piece  of  paper  and  held  it 
in  the  flame,  and  we  saw  it  burn  and  glow  and 
shrivel  up  and  fall  in  black  dust. 

"  *  Think/  said  he,  and  he  leaned  over  the  desk, 
and  spoke  in  a  gruesome  whisper  which  made  the 
cold  run  down  our  backs,  '  that  yon  paper  was 
your  finger,  one  finger  only  of  your  hand,  and  it 
burned  like  that  for  ever  and  ever,  and  think  of 
your  hand  and  your  arm  and  your  whole  body  all 
on  fire,  never  to  go  out.'  We  shuddered  that  you 
might  have  heard  the  form  creak.  *  That  is  hell, 
and  that  is  where  ony  laddie  will  go  who  does  not 
repent  and  believe/ 

"  It  was  like  Dante's  Inferno,  and  I  dared  not 
take  my  eyes  off  his  face.  He  blew  out  the  candle, 
and  we  crept  to  the  door  trembling,  not  able  to 
say  one  word. 

"  That  night  I  could  not  sleep,  for  I  thought  I 
might  be  in  the  fire  before  morning,  It  was  harvest 


26  DOMS1E. 

time,  and  the  moon  was  filling  the  room  with  cold, 
clear  light.  From  my  bed  I  could  see  the  stocks 
standing  in  rows  upon  the  field,  and  it  seemed  like 
the  judgment  day. 

"  I  was  only  a  wee  laddie,  and  I  did  what  we  all 
do  in  trouble,  I  cried  for  my  mother. 

"  Ye  hae  na  forgotten,  mither,  the  fricht  that  was 
on  me  that  nicht." 

"  Never,"  said  Marget,  "  and  never  can ;  it's 
hard  wark  for  me  to  keep  frae  hating  that  man, 
dead  or  alive.  Geordie  gripped  me  wi'  baith  his 
wee  airms  round  my  neck,  and  he  cries  over  and 
over  and  over  again,  '  Is  yon  God  ? ' " 

"  Ay,  and  ye  kissed  me,  mither,  and  ye  said  (it's 
like  yesterday),  '  Yir  safe  with  me/  and  ye  telt  me 
that  God  micht  punish  me  to  mak  me  better  if  I 
was  bad,  but  that  he  wud  never  torture  ony  puir 
soul,  for  that  cud  dae  nae  guid,  and  was  the  Devil's 
wark.  Ye  asked  me : 

"  '  Am  I  a  guid  mother  tae  ye  ? '  and  when  I 
could  dae  naethin'  but  hold,  ye  said,  '  Be  sure  God 
maun  be  a  hantle  kinder/ 

"  The  truth  came  to  me  as  with  a  flicker,  and  I 
cuddled  down  into  my  bed,  and  fell  asleep  in  His 
love  as  in  my  mother's  arms. 

"  Mither/*  and  George  lifted  up  his  head,  "  that 
was  my  conversion,  and,  mither  dear,  I  hae  longed 
a*  thro'  thae  college  studies  for  the  day  when  ma 
mooth  wud  be  opened  wi'  this  evangel." 

Marget's  was  an  old-fashioned  garden,  with 
pinks  and  daisies  and  forget-me-nots,  with  sweet- 
scented  wall-flower  and  thyme  and  moss  roses, 


IN  MARGETS  GARDEN.  27 

where  nature  had  her  way,  and  gracious  thoughts 
could  visit  one  without  any  jarring  note.  As 
George's  voice  softened  to  the  close,  I  caught  her 
saying,  "  His  servants  shall  see  His  face,"  and  the 
peace  of  Paradise  fell  upon  us  in  the  shadow  of 
death. 

The  night  before  the  end  George  was  carried  out 
to  his  corner,  and  Domsie,  whose  heart  was  nigh 
unto  the  breaking,  sat  with  him  the  afternoon.  They 
used  to  fight »the  College  battles  over  again,  with 
their  favourite  classics  beside  them,  but  this  time 
none  of  them  spoke  of  books.  Margaret  was 
moving  about  the  garden,  and  she  told  me  that 
George  looked  at  Domsie  wistfully,  as  if  he  had 
something  to  say  and  knew  not  how  to  do  it. 

After  a  while  he  took  a  book  from  below  his 
pillow,  and  began,  like  one  thinking  over  his 
words  : 

"  Maister  Jamieson,  ye  hae  been  a  guid  freena 
tae  me,  the  best  I  ever  hed  aifter  my  mither  and 
faither.  Wull  ye  tak'  this  buik  for  a  keepsake  of 
yir  grateful  scholar  ?  It's  a  Latin  '  Imitation,' 
Dominie,  and  it's  bonnie  printin'.  Ye  mind  hoo 
ye  gave  me  yir  ain  Vergil,  and  said  he  was  a  kind 
o'  Pagan  sanct.  Noo,  here  is  my  sanct,  and  div  ye 
ken  I've  often  thocht  Vergil  saw  His  day  afar  off, 
and  was  glad.  Wull  ye  read  it,  Dominie,  for  my 

sake,  and  maybe  ye  'ill  come  to  see "  and 

George  could  not  find  words  for  more. 

But  Domsie  understood.  "  Ma  laddie,  ma 
laddie,  that  I  luve  better  than  onythin'  on  earth, 
I'll  read  it  till  I  die,  and,  George,  I'll  tell  ye  what 


<8  DOMSIE. 

livin'  man  doesna  ken.  When  I  was  your  verra 
age  I  had  a  cruel  trial,  and  ma  heart  was  turned 
frae  faith.  The  classics  hae  been  my  Bible,  though 
I  said  naethin'  to  ony  man  against  Christ.  He 
aye  seemed  beyond  man,  and  noo  the  veesion  o' 
Him  has  come  to  me  in  this  gairden.  Laddie,  ye 
hae  dune  far  mair  for  me  than  I  ever  did  for  you. 
Wull  ye  mak'  a  prayer  for  yir  auld  dominie  afore 
we  pairt  ?  " 

There  was  a  thrush  singing  in  the  birches  and 
a  sound  of  bees  in  the  air,  when  George  prayed  in 
a  low,  soft  voice,  with  a  little  break  in  it : 

"  Lord  Jesus,  remember  my  dear  maister,  for 
he's  been  a  kind  freend  to  me  and  mony  a  puir 
laddie  in  Drumtochty.  Bind  up  his  sair  heart  and 
give  him  licht  at  eventide,*  and  may  the  maister 
and  his  scholars  meet  some  mornin*  where  the 
schule  never  skails,  in  the  kingdom  o*  oor  Father." 

Twice  Domsie  said  Amen,  and  it  seemed  as  the 
voice  of  another  man,  and  then  he  kissed  George 
upon  the  forehead ;  but  what  they  said  Marget  did 
not  wish  to  hear. 

When  he  passed  out  at  the  garden  gate,  the 
Westering  sun  was  shining  golden,  and  the  face  of 
Domsie  was  like  unto  that  of  a  little  child. 


IV. 

A  SCHOLAR'S  FUNERAL. 

DRUMTOCHTY  never  acquitted  itself  with  credit 
at  a  marriage,  having  no  natural  aptitude  for 
gaiety,  and  being  haunted  with  anxiety  lest  any 
"  hicht "  should  end  in  a  "  howe,"  but  the  parish 
had  a  genius  for  funerals.  It  was  long  mentioned 
with  a  just  sense  of  merit  that  an  English  under- 
taker, chancing  on  a  "  beerial  "  with  us,  had  no 
limits  to  his  admiration.  He  had  been  disheart- 
ened to  despair  all  his  life  by  the  ghastly  efforts  of 
chirpy  little  Southerners  to  look  solemn  on  occa- 
sion, but  his  dreams  were  satisfied  at  the  sight  of 
men  like  Drumsheugh  and  Hillocks  in  their  Sab- 
bath blacks.  Nature  lent  an  initial  advantage  in 
face,  but  it  was  an  instinct  in  the  blood  that 
brought  our  manner  to  perfection,  and  nothing 
could  be  more  awful  than  a  group  of  those  austere 
figures,  each  man  gazing  into  vacancy  without  a 
trace  of  expression,  and  refusing  to  recognise  his 
nearest  neighbour  by  word  or  look.  Drumtochty 
gave  itself  to  a  "  beerial  "  with  chastened  satisfac- 
tion, partly  because  it  lay  near  to  the  sorrow  of 
things,  and  partly  because  there  was  nothing  of 
speculation  in  it.  "  Ye  can  hae  little  rael  pleesure 


30  DOMSIE. 

in  a  merrige,"  explained  our  gravedigger,  in  whom 
the  serious  side  had  been  perhaps  abnormally  de- 
veloped, "  for  ye  never  ken  hoo  it  will  end ;  but 
there's  nae  risk  about  a  '  beerial.'  " 

It  came  with  a  shock  upon  townsmen  that  the 
ceremony  began  with  a  "  service  o'  speerits,"  and 
that  an  attempt  of  the  Free  Kirk  minister  to 
replace  this  by  the  reading  of  Scripture  was  re- 
sisted as  an  "innovation."  Yet  everyone  ad- 
mitted that  the  seriousness  of  Drumtochty  per- 
vaded and  sanctified  this  function.  A  tray  of 
glasses  was  placed  on  a  table  with  great  solemnity 
by  the  "  wricht,"  who  made  no  sign  and  invited 
none.  You  might  have  supposed  that  the  circum- 
stance had  escaped  the  notice  of  the  company,  so 
abstracted  and  unconscious  was  their  manner,  had 
it  not  been  that  two  graven  images  a  minute  later 
are  standing  at  the  table. 

"Ye  'ill  taste,  Tammas,"  with  settled  melan- 
choly. 

"  Na,  na ;  I've  nae  incleenation  the  day  ;  it's  an 
awfu*  dispensation,  this,  Jeems.  She  wud  be 
barely  saxty." 

"  Ay,  ay,  but  we  maun  keep  up  the  body  sae 
lang  as  we're  here,  Tammas." 

"  Weel,  puttin'  it  that  way,  a'm  not  sayin*  but 
yir  richt,"  yielding  unwillingly  to  the  force  of 
circumstance. 

"  We're  here  the  day  and  there  the  morn, 
Tammas.  She  wes  a  fine  wumman — Mistress 
Stirton — a  weel-livin'  wumman :  this  'ill  be  a 
blend,  a'm  thinkinV 


A   SCHOLAR'S  FUNERAL.  31 

"  She  slippit  aff  sudden  in  the  end  ;  a'm  judgin' 
it's  frae  the  Muirtown  grocer ;  but  a  body  canna 
discreeminate  on  a  day  like  this." 

Before  the  glasses  are  empty  all  idea  of  drinking 
is  dissipated,  and  one  has  a  vague  impression  that 
he  is  at  church. 

It  was  George  Howe's  funeral  that  broke  thtf 
custom  and  closed  the  "  service."  When  I  came 
into  the  garden  where  the  neighbours  were 
gathered,  the  "  wricht  "  was  removing  his  tray, 
and  not  a  glass  had  been  touched.  Then  I  knew 
that  Drumtochty  had  a  sense  of  the  fitness  of 
things,  and  was  stirred  to  its  depths. 

"  Ye  saw  the  wricht  carry  in  his  tray,"  said 
Drumsheugh,  as  we  went  home  from  the  kirkyard. 
"  Weel,  yon's  the  last  sicht  o't  ye'ill  get,  or  a'm 
no  Drumsheugh.  I've  nae  objection  masel'  to  a 
neebur  tastin'  at  a  funeral,  a'  the  mair  if  he's  come 
frae  the  upper  end  o'  the  pairish,  and  ye  ken  I 
dinna  hold  wi'  thae  teetotal  fouk.  A'm  ower  auld 
in  the  horn  to  change  noo.  But  there's  times  and 
seasons,  as  the  Gude  Buik  says,  and  it  wud  hae 
been  an  awfu'  like  business  tae  luik  at  a  gless  in 
Marget's  gairden,  and  puir  Domsie  standing  in 
ahent  the  brier  bush  as  if  he  cud  never  lift  his  heid 
again.  Ye  may  get  shairper  fouk  in*the  uptak', 
but  ye'ill  no  get  a  pairish  with  better  feelin's.  It 
'ill  be  a  kind  o'  sateesfaction  tae  Marget  when  she 
hears  o't.  She  was  aye  against  tastin',  and  a'm 
judgin'  her  tribble  has  ended  it  at  beerials." 

"  Man,  it  was  hard  on  some  o'  yon  lads  the  day, 
but  there  wesna  ane  o'  them  made  a  mudge.  I 


32  DOMSIE. 

keepit  my  eye  on  Posty,  but  he  never  lookit  the  way 
it  wes.  He's  a  drouthy  body,  but  he  hes  his  feel- 
in's,  hes  Posty." 

Before  the  Doctor  began  the  prayer,  Whinnie 
took  me  up  to  the  room. 

"  There's  twa  o'  Geordie's  College  freends  with 
Marget,  grand  scholars  a'm  telt,  and  there's 
anither  I  canna  weel  mak'  oot.  He's  terrible  cast 
doon,  and  Marget  speaks  as  if  she  kent  him." 

It  was  a  low-roofed  room,  with  a  box  bed  and 
some  pieces  of  humble  furniture,  fit  only  for  a 
labouring  man.  But  the  choice  treasures  of 
Greece  and  Rome  lay  on  the  table,  and  on  a  shelf 
beside  the  bed  College  prizes  and  medals,  while 
everywhere  were  the  roses  he  loved.  His  peasant 
mother  stood  beside  the  body  of  her  scholar  son, 
whose  hopes  and  thoughts  she  had  shared,  and 
through  the  window  came  the  bleating  of  distant 
sheep.  It  was  the  idyl  of  Scottish  University  life. 

George's  friends  were  characteristic  men,  each 
of  his  own  type,  and  could  only  have  met  in  the 
commonwealth  of  letters.  One  was  of  an  ancient 
Scottish  house  which  had  fought  for  Mary  against 
the  Lords  of  the  Congregation,  followed  Prince 
Charlie  to  Culloden,  and  were  High  Church  and 
Tory  to  trie  last  drop  of  their  blood.  Ludovic 
Gordon  left  Harrow  with  the  reputation  of  a 
classic,  and  had  expected  to  be  first  at  Edinboro*. 
It  was  Gordon,  in  fact,  that  Domsie  feared  in  the 
great  war,  but  he  proved  second  to  Marget's  son, 
and  being  of  the  breed  of  Prince  Jonathan,  which 
is  the  same  the  world  over,  he  came  to  love  our 


A   SCHOLAR'S  FUNERAL.  33 

David  as  his  own  soul.  The  other,  a  dark  little 
man,  with  a  quick,  fiery  eye,  was  a  western  Celt, 
who  had  worried  his  way  from  a  fishing  croft  in 
Barra  to  be  an  easy  first  in  philosophy  at  Edin- 
boro',  and  George  and  Ronald  Maclean  were  as 
brothers,  because  there  is  nothing  so  different  as 
Scottish  and  Highland  blood. 

"Maister  Gordon,"  said  Marget,  "  this  is 
George's  Homer,  and  he  bade  me  tell  you  that 
he  coonted  yir  freendship  ain  o'  the  gifts  o'  God." 

For  a  brief  space  Gordon  was  silent,  and,  when 
he  spoke,  his  voice  sounded  strange  in  that  room. 

"  Your  son  was  the  finest  scholar  of  my  time, 
and  a  very  perfect  gentleman.  He  was  also  my 
true  friend,  and  I  pray  God  to  console  his  mother." 
And  Ludovic  Gordon  bowed  low  over  Marget's 
worn  hand  as  if  she  had  been  a  queen. 

Marget  lifted  Plato,  and  it  seemed  to  me  that 
day  as  if  the  dignity  of  our  Lady  of  Sorrows  had 
fallen  upon  her. 

"  This  is  the  buik  George  chose  for  you,  Maister 
Maclean,  for  he  aye  said  to  me  ye  hed  been  a 
prophet  and  shown  him  mony  deep  things." 

The  tears  sprang  to  the  Celt's  eyes. 

"  It  wass  like  him  to  make  all  other  men  better 
than  himself,"  with  the  soft,  sad  Highland  accent ; 
"  and  a  proud  woman  you  are  to  hef  been  his 
mother." 

The  third  man  waited  at  the  window  till  the 
scholars  left,  and  then  I  saw  he  was  none  of  that 
kind,  but  one  "who  had  been  a  slave  of  sin  and  now 
was  free. 


34  DOMSIE. 

"  Andra  Chaumers,  George  wished  ye  tae  hev 
his  Bible,  and  he  expecks  ye  tae  keep  the  tryst." 

"  God  helping  me,  I  will,"  said  Chalmers, 
hoarsely ;  and  from  the  garden  ascended  a  voice, 
*  O  God,  who  art  a  very  present  help  in  trouble." 

The  Doctor's  funeral  prayer  was  one  of  the 
glories  of  the  parish,  compelling  even  the  Free 
Kirk  to  reluctant  admiration,  although  they  hinted 
that  its  excellence  was  rather  of  the  letter  than  the 
spirit,  and  regarded  its  indiscriminate  charity  with 
suspicion.  It  opened  with  a  series  of  extracts  from 
the  Psalms,  relieved  by  two  excursions  into  the 
minor  prophets,  and  led  up  to  a  sonorous  recita- 
tion of  the  problem  of  immortality  from  Job,  with 
its  triumphant  solution  in  the  peroration  of  the 
fifteenth  chapter  of  ist  Corinthians.  Drumtochty 
men  held  their  breath  till  the  Doctor  reached  the 
crest  of  the  hill  (Hillocks  disgraced  himself  once 
by  dropping  his  staff  at  the  very  moment  when  the 
Doctor  was  passing  from  Job  to  Paul),  and  then 
we  relaxed  while  the  Doctor  descended  to  local  de- 
tail. It  was  understood  that  it  took  twenty  years 
to  bring  the  body  of  this  prayer  to  perfection,  and 
any  change  would  have  been  detected  and  re- 
sented. 

The  Doctor  made  a  good  start,  and  had  already 
sighted  Job,  when  he  was  carried  out  of  his  course 
by  a  sudden  current,  and  began  to  speak  to  God 
about  Marget  and  her  son,  after  a  very  simple 
fashion  that  brought  a  lump  to  the  throat,  till  at 
last,  as  I  imagine,  the  sight  of  the  laddie  working 
at  his  Greek  in  the  study  of  a  winter  night  came 


A   SCHOLAR'S  FUNERAL.  35 

up  before  him,  and  the  remnants  of  the  great 
prayer  melted  like  an  iceberg  in  the  Gulf  Stream. 

"  Lord,  hae  peety  upon  us,  for  we  a'  luved  him, 
and  we  were  a'  prood  o'  him." 

After  the  Doctor  said  "  Amen  "  with  majesty,  one 
used  to  look  at  his  neighbour,  and  the  other  would 
shut  his  eyes  and  shake  his  head,  meaning 
"  There's  no  use  asking  me,  for  it  simply  can't  be 
better  done  by  living  man."  This  time  no  one  re- 
membered his  neighbour,  because  every  eye  was 
fixed  on  the  Doctor.  Drumtochty  was  identifying 
its  new  minister. 

"  It  may  be  that  I  hef  judged,  him  hardly,"  said 
Lachlan  Campbell,  one  of  the  Free  Kirk  High- 
landers, and  our  St.  Dominic.  "  I  shall  never 
again  deny  that  the  root  of  the  matter  is  in 
the  man,  although  much  choked  with  the  tares  of 
worldliness  and  Arminianism." 

"  He  is  a  goot  man,  Lachlan,"  replied  Donald 
Menzies,  another  Celt,  and  he  was  our  St.  Francis, 
"  for  every  one  that  loveth  is  born  of  God." 

There  was  no  hearse  in  Drumtochty,  and  we 
carried  our  dead  by  relays  of  four,  who  waded 
every  stream  unless  more  than  knee  deep,  the  rest 
following  in  straggling,  picturesque  procession 
over  the  moor  and  across  the  stepping  stones. 
Before  we  started,  Marget  came  out  and  arranged 
George's  white  silken  hood  upon  the  coffin  with 
roses  in  its  folds. 

She  swept  us  into  one  brief  flush  of  gratitude, 
from  Domsie  to  Posty. 

"  Neeburs,  ye  were  a'  his  freends,  and  he  wanted 


36  DOMSIE. 

ye  tae  ken  hoo  yir  trust  wes  mickle  help  tae  him 
in  his  battle." 

There  was  a  stir  within  us,  and  k  came  to  birth 
in  Drumsheugh  of  all  men. 

"  Marget  Hoo,  this  is  no  the  day  for  mony  words, 
but  there's  juist  ae  heart  in  Drumtochty, and  it's  sair." 

No  one  spoke  to  Domsle  as  we  went  down  the 
cart  track,  with  the  ripe  corn  standing  on  either 
side,  but  he  beckoned  Chalmers  to  walk  with  him. 

"  Ye  hae  heard  him  speak  o'  me,  then,  Maister 
Jamieson  ?  " 

"  Ay,  oftentimes,  and  he  said  once  that  ye  were 
hard  driven,  but  that  ye  had  trampled  Satan  under 
yir  feet." 

"  He  didna  tell  ye  all,  for  if  it  hadna  been  for 
George  Howe  I  wudna  been  worth  callin'  a  man 
this  day.  One  night  when  he  was  workin'  hard 
for  his  honours  examination,  and  his  disease  was 
heavy  upon  him,  puir  fellow,  he  sought  me  oot 
where  I  was,  and  wouldna  leave  till  I  cam'  wi'  him. 

"  '  Go  home,'  I  said,  '  Howe  ;  it's  death  for  ye  to 
be  oot  in  this  sleet  and  cold.  Why  not  leave  me 
to  lie  in  the  bed  I  hae  made  ?  " 

"  He  took  me  by  the  arm  into  a  passage.  I  see 
the  gaslicht  on  his  white  face,  and  the  shining  o' 
his  eyes. 

"  '  Because  I  have  a  mother ' 

"  Dominie,  he  pulled  me  oot  o'  hell." 

"  Me  tae,  Andra,  but  no  your  hell.  Ye  mind 
the  Roman  Triumph,  when  a  general  cam'  hame 
wi'  his  spoils.  Laddie,  we're  the  captives  that  go 
with  his  chariot  up  the  Capitol." 


A   SCHOLAR'S  FUNERAL.  37 

Donald  Menzies  was  a  man  of  moods,  and  the 
Doctor's  prayer  had  loosed  his  imagination  so  that 
he  saw  visions. 

"  Look,"  said  he,  as  we  stood  on  a  ridge,  "  I  hef 
seen  it  before  in  the  book  of  Joshua." 

Below  the  bearers  had  crossed  a  burn  on  foot, 
and  were  ascending  the  slope  where  an  open  space 
of  deep  green  was  fringed  with  purple  heather. 

"  The  ark  hass  gone  over  Jordan,  and  George 
will  have  come  into  the  Land  of  Promise." 

The  September  sunshine  glinted  on  the  white 
silk  George  won  with  his  blood,  and  fell  like  a  ben- 
ediction on  the  two  figures  that  climbed  the  hard 
ascent  close  after  the  man  they  loved. 

Strangers  do  not  touch  our  dead  in  Drumtochty, 
but  the  eight  of  nearest  blood  lower  the  body 
into  the  grave.  The  order  of  precedence  is  keenly 
calculated,  and  the  loss  of  a  merited  cord  can 
never  be  forgiven.  Marget  had  arranged  every- 
thing with  Whinnie,  and  all  saw  the  fitness.  His 
father  took  the  head,  and  the  feet  (next  in  honour) 
he  gave  to  Domsie. 

"  Ye  maun  dae  it.  Marget  said  ye  were  o'  his 
am  bluid." 

On  the  right  side  the  cords  were  handed  to  the 
Doctor,  Gordon,  and  myself;  and  on  the  left  to 
Drumsheugh,  Maclean,  and  Chalmers.  Domsie 
lifted  the  hood  for  Marget,  but  the  roses  he  gently 
placed  on  George's  name.  Then  with  bent,  un- 
covered heads,  and  in  unbroken  silence,  we  buried 
all  that  remained  of  our  scholar. 

We  always  waited  till  the  grave  was  filled  and 


3o  DOMSIE. 

the  tu*f  laid  down,  a  trying  quarter  of  an  hour. 
Ah  me !  the  thud  of  the  spade  on  your  mother's 
grave !  None  gave  any  sign  of  what  he  felt  save 
Drumsheugh,  whose  sordid  slough  had  slipped  off 
frpm  a  tender  heart,  and  Chalmers,  who  went  be- 
hind a  tombstone  and  sobbed  aloud.  Not  even 
Posty  asked  the  reason  so  much  as  by  a  look,  and 
Drumtochty,  as  it  passed,  made  as  though  it  did 
not  see.  But  I  marked  that  the  Dominie  took  Chal- 
mers home,  and  walked  all  the  way  with  him  to 
Kildrummie  station  next  morning.  His  friends 
erected  a  granite  cross  over  George's  grave,  and  it 
was  left  to  Domsie  to  choose  the  inscription. 
There  was  a  day  when  it  would  have  been  "Whom 
the  gods  love  die  young."  Since  then  Domsie  had 
seen  the  kingdom  of  God,  and  this  is  graven  where 
the  roses  bloomed  fresh  every  summer  for  twenty 
years  till  Marget  was  laid  with  her  son : 

GEORGE  HOWE,  M.  A., 

Died  September  22d,  1869, 

Aged  21. 

**  They  shall  bring  the  glory  and  honour  of  the  nations  into  it." 

It  was  a  late  November  day  when  I  went  to  see 
George's  memorial,  and  the  immortal  hope  was 
burning  low  in  my  heart ;  but  as  I  stood  before 
that  cross,  the  sun  struggled  from  behind  a  black 
watery  bank  of  cloud,  and  picked  out  every  letter 
of  the  Apocalypse  in  gold. 


A  HIGHLAND  MYSTIC. 


WHAT  EYE  HATH  NOT  SEEN. 

STRANGE  ministers  who  came  to  assist  at  the 
Free  Kirk  Sacrament  were  much  impressed  with 
the  elders,  and  never  forgot  the  transfiguration  of 
Donald  MenzJes,  which  used  to  begin  about  the 
middle  of  the  "  action  "  sermon,  and  was  com- 
pleted at  the  singing  of  the  last  Psalm.  Once 
there  was  no  glory,  because  the  minister,  being 
still  young,  expounded  a  new  theory  of  the  atone- 
ment of  German  manufacture,  and  Donald's  face 
was  piteous  to  behold.  It  haunted  the  minister 
for  months,  and  brought  to  confusion  a  promising 
course  of  sermons  on  the  contribution  of  Hegel  to 
Christian  thought.  Donald  never  laid  the  blame 
of  such  calamities  on  the  preacher,  but  accepted 
them  as  a  just  judgment  on  his  blindness  of  heart. 

"  We  hef  had  the  open  vision,"  Donald  explained 
to  his  friend  Lachlan  Campbell,  who  distributed  the 
responsibility  in  another  fashion,  "  and  we  would 
not  see — so  the  veil  hass  fallen." 


40  A   HIGHLAND  MYSTIC. 

Donald  sat  before  the  pulpit  and  filled  the  hearts 
of  nervous  probationers  with  dismay,  not  because 
his  face  was  critical,  but  because  it  seemed  non- 
conducting, upon  which  their  best  passages  would 
break  like  spray  against  a  rock,  It  was  by  nature 
the  dullest  you  ever  saw,  with  hair  descending  low 
upon  the  forehead,  and  preposterous  whiskers 
dominating  everything  that  remained,  except  a 
heavy  mouth  and  brown,  lack-lustre  eyes.  For  a 
while  Donald  crouched  in  the  corner  of  the  pew, 
his  head  sunk  on  his  breast,  a  very  picture  of  utter 
hopelessness.  But  as  the  Evangel  began  to  play 
round  his  heart,  he  would  fix  the  preacher  with 
rapid,  wistful  glances,  as  of  one  who  had  awaked, 
but  hardly  dared  believe  such  things  could  be  true. 
Suddenly  a  sigh  pervaded  six  pews,  a  kind  of  gentle 
breath  of  penitence,  faith,  love,  and  hope  mingled 
together  like  the  incense  of  the  sanctuary,  and 
Donald  lifted  up  his  head.  His  eyes  are  now 
aflame,  and  those  sullen  lips  are  refining  into 
curves  of  tenderness.  From  the  manse  pew  I 
watched  keenly,  for  at  any  moment  a  wonderful 
sight  may  be  seen.  A  radiant  smile  will  pass  from 
his  lips  to  his  eyes  and  spread  over  his  face,  as 
when  the  sun  shines  on  a  fallow  field  and  the  rough 
furrows  melt  into  warmth  and  beauty.  Donald's 
gaze  is  now  fixed  on  a  window  above  the  preacher's 
head,  for  on  these  great  days  that  window  is  to 
him  as  the  gate  of  heaven.  All  I  could  see  would 
be  a  bit  of  blue,  and  the  fretted  sunlight  through 
the  swaying  branches  of  an  old  plane  tree.  But 
Donald  has  seen  his  Lord  hanging  upon  the  Cross 


W 'HA  T  EYE  HA  TH  NOT  SEEN.  4! 

for  him,  and  the  New  Jerusalem  descending  like  a 
bride  adorned  for  her  husband,  more  plainly  than 
if  Perugino's  great  Crucifixion,  with  the  kneeling 
saints,  and  Angelico's  Outer  Court  of  Heaven, 
with  the  dancing  angels,  had  been  hung  in  our 
little  Free  Kirk.  When  he  went  down  the  aisle 
with  the  flagon  in  the  Sacrament,  he  walked  as  one 
in  a  dream,  and  wist  not  that  his  face  shone. 

There  was  an  interval  after  the  Sacrament, 
when  the  stranger  was  sent  to  his  room  with  light 
refreshments,  to  prepare  himself  for  the  evening, 
and  the  elders  dined  with  the  minister.  Before 
the  introduction  of  the  Highlanders  conversation 
had  an  easy  play  within  recognised  limits,  and  was 
always  opened  by  Burnbrae,  who  had  come  out  in 
'43,  and  was  understood  to  have  read  the  Confes- 
sion of  Faith. 

"  Ye  gave  us  a  grawnd  discoorse  this  mornin/ 
sir,  baith  instructive  and  edifyin';  we  were  juist 
sayin',  comin'  up  the  gairden,  that  ye  were  never 
heard  to  mair  advantage." 

The  minister  was  much  relieved,  because  he 
had  not  been  hopeful  during  the  week,  and  was 
still  dissatisfied,  as  he  explained  at  length,  with 
the  passage  on  the  Colossian  heresy. 

When  these  doubts  had  been  cleared  up,  Burn- 
brae  did  his  best  by  the  minister  upstairs,  who  had 
submitted  himself  to  the  severe  test  of  table 
addresses. 

"  Yon  were  verra  suitable  words  at  the  second 
table;  he's  a  speeritually  minded  man,  Maister 
Cosh,  and  has  the  richt  sough." 


42  A   HIGHLAND  MYSTIC. 

Or  at  the  worst,  when  Burnbrae's  courage  had 
failed : 

"  Maister  McKittrick  had  a  fine  text  afore  the 
table.  I  aye  like  tae  see  a  man  gang  tae  the 
Song  o'  Solomon  on  the  Sacrament  Sabbath. 
A'  mind  Dr.  Guthrie  on  that  verra  subject  twenty 
years  syne." 

Having  paid  its  religious  dues,  conversation 
was  now  allowed  some  freedom,  and  it  was  won- 
derful how  many  things  could  be  touched  on, 
always  from  a  sacramental  standpoint. 

"  We've  been  awfu'  favoured  wi'  weather  the 
day,  and  ought  to  be  thankfu'.  Gin  it  hads  on 
like  this  I  wudna  say  but  th'ill  be  a  gude  hairst. 
That's  a  fine  pucklie  aits  ye  hae  in  the  laigh 
park,  Burnbrae. " 

"  A've  seen  waur ;  they're  fillin'  no  that  bad. 
I  wes  juist  thinkin'  as  I  cam  to  the  Kirk  that 
there  wes  aits  in  that  field  the  Sacrament  after 
the  Disruption." 

"  Did  ye  notice  that  Rachel  Skene  sat  in  her 
seat  through  the  tables  ?  Says  I,  '  Are  ye  no 
gain  forrit,  Mistress  Skene,  or  hae  ye  lost  yir 
token  ?  '  '  Na,  na,'  says  she,  '  ma  token's  safe  in 
ma  handkerchief ;  but  I  cudna  get  to  Kirk  yester- 
day, and  I  never  went  forrit  withoot  ma  Saiturday 
yet,  and  I'm  no  to  begin  noo/  " 

"She  was  aye  a  richt-thinkin'  woman,  Rachel, 
there's  nae  mistake  o'  that;  a'  wonder  hoo  her 
son  is  gettin'  on  wi'  that  fairm  he's  takin';  a'  doot 
it's  rack-rented." 

It  was  an  honest,  satisfying  conversation,  and 


WHA  T  EYE  HA  TH  NOT  SEEN.  43 

reminded  one  of  the  parish  of  Drumtochty,  being 
both  quoad  sacra  and  quoad  civzlza. 

When  the  Highlanders  came  in,  Burnbrae  was 
deposed  after  one  encounter,  and  the  minister  was 
reduced  to  a  state  of  timid  suggestion.  There 
were  days  when  they  would  not  «peak  one  word, 
and  were  understood  to  be  lost  in  meditation ;  on 
others  they  broke  in  on  any  conversation  that  was 
going  from  levels  beyond  the  imagination  of 
Drumtochty.  Had  this  happened  in  the  Auld 
Manse,  Drumsheugh  would  have  taken  for 
granted  that  Donald  was  "  feeling  sober "  (ill), 
and  recommended  the  bottle  which  cured  him  of 
"  a  hoast "  (cough)  in  the  fifties.  But  the  Free 
Kirk  had  been  taught  that  the  Highlanders  were 
unapproachable  in  spiritual  attainments,  and  even 
Burnbrae  took  his  discipline  meekly. 

"  It  wes  a  mercy  the  mune  changed  last  week, 
Maister  Menzies,  or  a'm  thinkin*  it  had  been  a 
weet  sacrament." 

Donald  came  out  of  a  maze,  where  he  had  been 
wandering  in  great  peace. 

"  I  wass  not  hearing  that  the  moon  had  anything 
to  do  in  the  matter.  Oh,  no,  but  he  wass  bound 
hand  and  foot  by  a  mighty  man." 

"  Wha  was  bund  ?  A'm  no  juist  followin'  ye, 
Maister  Menzies." 

"  The  Prince  of  the  power  of  the  air.  Oh,  yes, 
and  he  shall  not  be  loosed  till  the  occasion  be  over. 
I  hef  had  a  sign."  After  which,  conversation  on 
the  weather  languished. 

Perhaps  the  minister  fared  worse  in  an  attempt 


44  A   HIGHLAND  MYSTIC. 

to  extract  a  certificate  of  efficiency  from  Lachlan 
Campbell  in  favour  of  a  rhetorical  young  preacher. 

"  A  fery  nice  speaker,  and  well  pleased  with  him- 
self. But  I  would  be  thinking,  when  he  wass  giv- 
ing his  images.  Oh,  yes,  I  would  be  thinking. 
There  was  a  laddie  feeshing  in  the  burn  before 
my  house,  and  a  fery  pretty  laddie  he  wass.  He 
had  a  rod  and  a  string,  and  he  threw  his  line  peau- 
tiful.  It  wass  a  great  peety  he  had  no  hook,  for  it 
iss  a  want,  and  you  do  not  catch  many  fish  without 
a  hook.  But  I  shall  be  glad  that  you  are  pleased, 
sir,  and  all  the  elders." 

These  were  only  passing  incidents,  and  left  no 
trace,  but  the  rebuke  Donald  gave  to  Burnbrae  will 
be  told  while  an  elder  lives.  One  of  the  last  of 
the  old  mystical  school,  which  trace  their  descent 
from  Samuel  Rutherford,  had  described  the  great 
mystery  of  our  Faith  with  such  insight  and  pathos 
that  Donald  had  stood  by  the  table  weeping  gently, 
and  found  himself  afterwards  in  the  manse,  he 
knew  not  how. 

The  silence  was  more  than  could  be  borne,  and 
his  former  responsibility  fell  on  Burnbrae. 

"  It  wes  wonnerful,  and  I  canna  mind  hearing 
the  like  o'  yon  at  the  tables  ;  but  I  was  sorry  to  see 
the  Doctor  sac  failed.  He  wes  bent  twa  fad  ;  a' 
doot  it's  a  titch  o'  rheumatism,  or  maybe  lumbago. " 

Johannine  men  are  subject  to  sudden  flashes  of 
anger,  and  Donald  blazed. 

"  Bent  down  with  rheumatism,  iss  that  what  you 
say  ?  Oh,  yes,  it  will  be  rheumatism.  Hass  the 
sight  of  your  eyes  left  you,  and  hef  you  no  discern- 


WNA  T  EYE  HA  TH  NOT  SEEN.  45 

ment  ?  Did  ye  not  see  that  he  was  bowed  to  the 
very  table  with  the  power  of  the  Word  ?  for  it  was 
a  fire  in  his  bones,  and  he  was  baptised  with  the 
Holy  Ghost ! " 

When  the  elders  gathered  in  the  vestry,  the 
minister  asked  what  time  the  preacher  might  have 
for  his  evening  sermon,  and  Donald  again  burst 
forth  : 

"  I  am  told  that  in  towns  the  Gospel  goes  by 
minutes,  like  the  trains  at  the  station ;  but  there 
is  no  time-table  here,  for  we  shall  wait  till  the  sun 
goes  down  to  hear  all  things  God  will  be  sending 
by  His  servant." 

Good  memories  differ  about  the  text  that 
Sacrament  evening,  and  the  length  of  the  sermon, 
but  all  hold  as  a  treasure  forever  what  happened 
when  the  book  was  closed.  The  people  were 
hushed  into  a  quiet  that  might  be  felt,  and  the  old 
man,  swayed  by  the  spirit  of  the  Prophets,  began 
to  repeat  the  blessings  and  curses  in  the  Bible 
between  Genesis  and  Revelation,  and  after  each 
pair  he  cried  with  heart  piercing  voice,  "  Choose 
this  day  which  ye  will  take,"  till  Donald  could  con- 
tain himself  no  longer. 

"Here  iss  the  man  who  hass  deserved  all  the 
curses,  and  here  iss  the  man  who  chooses  all  the 
blessings." 

Our  fathers  had  no  turn  for  sensation,  but  they 
had  an  unerring  sense  of  a  spiritual  situation. 
The  preacher  paused  for  five  seconds,  while  no 
man  could  breathe,  and  then  lifting  up  his  hand 
to  Heaven  he  said,  with  an  indescribable  authority 


40  A   HIGHLAND  MYSTIC. 

and  tenderness,  "  The  Lord  fulfil  the  desire  of  your 
heart  both  in  this  world  and  that  which  is  to  come." 
Then  the  congregation  sang,  after  the  ancient 
custom  of  our  parts, 

*'  Now  blessed  be  the  Lord  our  God, 
The  God  of  Israel," 

and  Donald's  face  was  one  glory,  because  he  saw 
in  the  soft  evening  light  of  the  upper  window  the 
angels  of  God  ascending  and  descending  upon  the 
Son  of  man. 

It  was  after  this  that  the  Free  Kirk  minister 
occupied  six  months  in  proving  that  Moses  did 
not  write  Deuteronomy,  and  Lachlan  was  trying 
for  the  same  period  to  have  the  minister  removed 
from  Drumtochty.  Donald,  deprived  by  one 
stroke  of  both  his  friends,  fell  back  on  me,  and 
told  me  many  things  I  loved  to  hear,  although  they 
were  beyond  my  comprehension. 

"  It  wass  not  always  so  with  me  as  it  iss  this 
day,  for  I  once  had  no  ear  for  God's  voice,  and 
my  eyes  were  holden  that  I  saw  not  the  spiritual 
world.  But  sore  sickness  came  upon  me,  and  I 
wass  nigh  unto  death,  and  my  soul  awoke  withm 
me  and  began  to  cry  like  a  child  for  its  mother. 
All  my  days  I  had  lived  on  Loch  Tay,  and  now  I 
thought  of  the  other  country  into  which  I  would 
hef  to  be  going,  where  I  had  no  nest,  and  my  soul 
would  be  driven  to  and  fro  in  the  darkness  as  a 
bird  on  the  moor  of  Rannoch. 

"  Janet  sent  for  the  minister,  and  he  wass  fery 
kind,  and  he  spoke  about  my  sickness  and  my 


WHA  T  EYE  HA  TH  NOT  SEEN.  47 

farm,  and  I  said  nothing.  For  I  wass  hoping  he 
would  tell  me  what  I  wass  to  do  for  my  soul.  But 
he  began  upon  the  sheep  market  at  Amulree,  and 
I  knew  he  wass  also  in  the  dark.  After  he  left  I 
turned  my  face  to  the  wall  and  wept. 

"  Next  morning  wass  the  Sabbath,  and  I  said  to 
Janet : 

"  '  Wrap  me  in  my  plaid,  and  put  me  in  a  cart, 
and  take  me  to  Aberfeldy.'  '  And  what  will  ye  be 
doing  at  Aberfeldy  ?  and  you  will  die  on  the  road/ 
4  There  iss,"  said  I,  *  a  man  there  who  knows  the 
way  of  the  soul,  and  it  iss  better  to  die  with  my 
face  to  the  light. ' 

"  They  set  me  in  a  corner  of  the  church  where  I 
wass  thinking  no  man  could  see  me,  and  I  cried  in 
my  heart  without  ceasing,  '  Lord,  send  me — send 
me  a  word  from  Thy  mouth.' 

"  When  the  minister  came  into  the  pulpit  he 
gave  me  a  strange  look,  and  this  wass  his  text, 
4  Loose  him  and  let  him  go.' 

"  As  he  preached  I  knew  I  wass  Lazarus,  with 
the  darkness  of  the  grave  around  me,  and  my  soul 
straitly  bound.  I  could  do  nothing,  but  I  wass 
longing  with  all  my  strength. 

"  Then  the  minister  stopped,  and  he  said  : 

"  '  There  is  a  man  in  this  church,  and  he  will 
know  himself  who  it  iss.  When  I  came  in  this 
morning  I  saw  a  shadow  on  his  face,  and  I  knew 
not  whether  it  was  the  wing  of  the  Angel  of  Life 
or  the  Angel  of  Death  passing  over  him,  but  the 
Lord  has  made  it  plain  to  me,  and  I  see  the  silver 
feathers  of  the  Angel  of  the  Covenant,  and  this 


48  A   HIGHLAND  MYSTIC. 

shall  be  a  sign  unto  that  man,  '  Loose  him  and  let 
him  go/ 

"  While  he  wass  still  speaking  I  felt  my  soul 
carried  out  into  the  light  of  God's  face,  and  my 
grave-clothes  were  taken  off  one  by  one  as  Janet 
would  unwind  my  plaid,  and  I  stood  a  living  man 
before  Christ. 

"  It  wass  a  sweet  June  day  as  we  drove  home, 
and  I  lay  in  sunshine,  and  every  bird  that  sang, 
and  the  burnies  by  the  roadside,  and  the  rustling 
of  the  birch  leaves  in  the  wind — oh,  yes !  and  the 
sound  of  the  horse's  feet  were  saying, '  Loose  him 
and  let  him  go.' 

"  Loch  Tay  looked  black  angry  as  we  came  by 
its  side  in  the  morning,  and  I  said  to  Janet : 

"  '  It  iss  the  Dead  Sea,  and  I  shall  be  as  Sodom 
and  Gomorrah  ;  *  but  in  the  evening  it  wass  as  a 
sea  of  glass  mingled  with  fire,  and  I  heard  the 
song  of  Moses  and  the  Lamb  sweeping  over  the 
Loch,  but  this  wrass  still  the  sweetest  word  to  me, 
•  Loose  him  and  let  him  go/  " 


II. 

AGAINST  PRINCIPALITIES  AND  POWERS. 

THE  powers  of  darkness  had  been  making  a 
dead  set  upon  Donald  all  winter,  and  towards 
spring  he  began  to  lose  hope.  He  came  to  the 
Cottage  once  a  week  with  news  from  the  seat  of 
war,  and  I  could  distinguish  three  zones  of  depres- 
sion. Within  the  first  he  bewailed  his  inveterate 
attachment  to  this  world,  and  his  absolute  indiffer- 
ence to  spiritual  things,  and  was  content  to  describe 
himself  as  Achan.  The  sign  that  he  had  entered 
the  second  was  a  recurring  reference  to  apostasy, 
and  then  you  had  the  melancholy  satisfaction  of 
meeting  the  living  representative  of  Simon  Peter. 
When  he  passed  into  the  last  zone  of  the  Purga- 
torio,  Donald  was  beyond  speech,  and  simply 
allowed  one  to  gather  from  allusions  to  thirty 
pieces  of  silver  that  he  was  Judas  Iscariot. 

So  long  as  it  was  only  Achan  or  Simon  Peter 
that  came  to  sit  with  me,  one  was  not  gravely  con- 
cerned, but  Judas  Iscariot  meant  that  Donald  had 
entered  the  Valley  of  the  Shadow. 

He  made  a  spirited  rally  at  the  winter  Sacra- 
ment, and  distinguished  himself  greatly  on  the 
evening  of  the  Fast  day.  Being  asked  to  pray,  as 

49 


5<>  A   HIGHLAND  MYSTIC. 

a  recognition  of  comparative  cheerfulness,  Donald 
continued  for  five  and  twenty  minutes,  and  un- 
folded the  works  of  the  Devil  in  such  minute  and 
vivid  detail  that  Burnbrae  talks  about  it  to  this  day, 
and  Lachlan  Campbell,  although  an  expert  in  this 
department,  confessed  astonishment.  It  was  a 
mighty  wrestle,  and  it  was  perhaps  natural  that 
Donald  should  groan  heavily  at  regular  intervals, 
and  acquaint  the  meeting  how  the  conflict  went, 
but  the  younger  people  were  much  shaken,  and  the 
edification,  even  of  the  serious,  was  not  without 
reserve. 

While  Donald  still  lingered  on  the  field  of  battle 
to  gather  the  spoils  and  guard  against  any  sudden 
return  of  the  enemy,  the  elders  had  a  hurried  con- 
sultation in  the  vestry,  and  Burnbrae  put  the  posi- 
tion with  admirable  force. 

"  Naebody  can  deny  that  it  wes  a  maist  extraor- 
dinary prayer,  and  it  passes  me  hoo  he  kens  sae 
muckle  aboot  the  Deevil.  In  fac'  it's  a  preevilege 
tae  hae  sic  an  experienced  hand  among  us,  and  I 
wudna  offend  Donald  Menzies  for  onything.  But 
yon  groanin'  wes  a  wee  thingie  discomposin',  and 
when  he  said,  kind  o'  confidential,  '  He's  losing 
his  grup,'  ma  ain  fouk  cudna  keep  their  coonte- 
nance.  Weel,  I  wes  thinkin'  that  the  best  plan  wud 
be  for  Maister  Campbell  juist  tae  give  a  bit  advice 
and  tell  Donald  that  we're  thankfu'  to  hear  him  at 
the  meeting,  and  michty  lifted  wi'  his  peteetions, 
but  it  wud  be  an  obleegation  gin  he  wud  leave  oot 
the  groans  and  tell  us  aifterwards  what  wes  gaein* 
on,  maybe  in  the  Session." 


AGAINST  PRINCIPALITIES  AND  POWERS.       5 1 

Lachlan  accepted  his  commission  with  quite 
unusual  diffidence,  and  offered  a  very  free  transla- 
tion on  the  way  home. ' 

"  It  wass  a  mercy  to  hef  you  at  the  meeting  this 
night,  Donald  Menzies,  for  I  saw  that  Satan  had 
come  in  great  strength,  and  it  iss  not  every  man 
that  can  withstand  him.  But  you  will  not  be 
ignorant  of  his  devices ;  oh,  no !  you  will  be  knowing 
them  fery  well.  Satan  had  not  much  to  say  before 
the  prayer  wass  done,  and  I  will  not  be  expecting 
to  see  him  again  at  this  occasion.  It  wass  the 
elders  said, '  Donald  Menzies  has  trampled  Satan 
under  foot/  Oh,  yes !  and  fery  glad  men  they  were, 
for  it  iss  not  given  to  them.  But  I  would  be  think- 
ing, iss  it  good  to  let  the  Devil  hear  you  groaning 
in  the  battle,  and  I  would  be  wishing  that  you  had 
kept  all  your  groans  and  given  them  to  me  on  the 
road." 

"  Iss  it  the  groans  you  are  not  liking  ?  "  retorted 
Donald,  stung  by  this  unexpected  criticism.  "  And 
what  iss  wrong  with  groaning?  But  I  hef  the 
Scripture,  and  I  will  not  be  caring  what  you  say, 
Lachlan  Campbell." 

"  If  you  hef  a  warrant  for  groaning,  it  iss  this 
man  that  will  be  glad  to  hear  it,  for  I  am  not  re- 
membering that  passage." 

"  Maybe  you  hef  not  read  "  Maketh  intercession 
with  groanings/  but  it  iss  a  fery  good  Scripture, 
and  it  iss  in  my  Bible." 

"  All  Scripture  iss  good,  Donald  Menzies,  but  it 
iss  not  lawful  to  divide  Scripture,  and  it  will  read  in 
my  Bible,  '  groanings  which  cannot  be  uttered/ 


52  A   HIGHLAND  MYSTIC. 

and  I  wass  saying  this  would  be  the  best  way  with 
your  groans." 

Donald  came  in  to  tell  me  how  this  companion 
in  arms  had  treated  him,  and  was  still  sore. 

"  He  iss  in  the  bondage  of  the  letter  these  days, 
for  he  will  be  always  talking  about  Moses  with  the 
minister,  and  I  am  not  hearing  that  iss  good  for 
the  soul." 

If  even  Lachlan  could  not  attain  to  Donald,  it 
was  perhaps  no  discredit  that  the  Drumtochty 
mind  was  at  times  hopelessly  perplexed. 

"  He's  a  gude  cratur  and  terrible  gifted  in 
prayer/'  Netherton  explained  to  Burnbrae  after 
a  prayer-meeting,  when  Donald  had  temporarily 
abandoned  Satan  and  given  himself  to  autobi- 
ography, "but  yon  wesna  a  verra  ceevil  way  to 
speak  aboot  his  faither  and  mither." 

"  A*  doot  yir  imaginin',  Netherton.  Donald 
never  mentioned  his  fouk  the  nicht,  and  it's  no 
likely  he  wud  in  the  prayer-meeting." 

"  There's  nae  imaginin'  aboot  it ;  a'  heard  him 
wi*  ma  ain  ears  say  twice,  *  My  father  was  an 
Amorite,  and  my  mother  a  Hittite.'  I'll  take  my 
aith  on  it.  Noo,  a'  dinna  ken  Donald's  forbears 
masel',  for  he's  frae  Tayside,  but  supposin'  they 
were  as  bad  as  bad  cud  be,  it's  no  for  him  to 
blacken  his  ain  blood,  and  him  an  Elder." 

"  Toots,  Netherton,  yir  aff  it  a'  thegither.  Div 
ye  no  see  yon's  Bible  langidge  oot  o'  a  Prophet,  or 
maybe  Kings,  and  Donald  wes  usin't  in  a  feegura- 
tive  capaucity  ?  " 

"  Feegurative  or  no   feegurative,    Burnbrae,  it 


AGAINST  PRINCIPALITIES  AND  POWERS.      53 

disna  maitter ;  it's  a  peetifu'  job  howking  [digging] 
thro*  the  Bible  for  ill  words  tae  misca  yir  fouk  wf 
afore  the  public." 

Burnbrae  gave  up  the  contest  in  despair,  feeling 
himself  that  Old  Testament  allusions  were  risky, 
and  that  Donald's  quotation  was  less  than 
felicitous. 

Donald's  prayers  were  not  known  outside  the 
Free  Kirk  circle,  but  his  encounters  with  the  evil 
one  were  public  property,  and  caused  a  general 
shudder.  Drumtochty  was  never  sure  who  might 
not  be  listening,  and  considered  that  it  was  safer 
not  to  meddle  with  certain  nameless  people.  But 
Donald  waged  an  open  warfare  in  every  corner  of 
the  parish,  in  the  Kirk,  by  the  wayside,  in  his 
house,  on  the  road  to  market,  and  was  ready  to 
give  anyone  the  benefit  of  his  experiences. 

"  Donald  Menzies  is  in  yonder,"  said  Hillocks, 
pointing  to  the  smithy,  whose  fire  sent  fitful 
gleams  across  the  dark  road,  "  and  he's  carryin* 
on  maist  fearsome.  Ye  wud  think  tae  hear  him 
speak  that  auld  Hornie  wes  gaein*  louse  in  the 
parish  ;  it  sent  a  grue  f  shiver]  doon  ma  back. 
Faigs,  it's  no  cannie  to  be  muckle  wi'  the  body, 
for  the  Deil  and  Donald  seem  never  separate. 
Hear  him  noo  ;  hear  him  ! " 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Donald,  addressing  the  smith 
and  two  horror-stricken  ploughmen,  "  I  hef  seen 
him,  and  he  hass  withstood  me  on  the  road.  It 
wass  late,  and  I  was  thinking  on  the  shepherd  and 
the  sheep,  and  Satan  will  come  out  from  the  wood 
below  Hillocks'  farm-house  ["  Gude  preserve  us," 


54  A  HIGHLAND  MYSTIC. 

from  Hillocks]  and  say,  '  That  word  is  not  for 
you,  Donald  Menzies.'  But  I  wass  strong  that 
night,  and  I  said,  '  Neither  shall  any  pluck  them 
out  of  my  hand/  and  he  will  not  wait  long  after 
that,  oh,  no !  and  I  did  not  follow  him  into  the 
wood." 

The  smith,  relieved  by  the  conclusion  of  the 
tale,  blew  a  mighty  blast,  and  the  fire  burst  into  a 
red  blaze,  throwing  into  relief  the  black  figure  of 
the  smith  and  the  white  faces  of  the  ploughmen ; 
glancing  from  the  teeth  of  harrows,  and  the  blades 
of  scythes,  and  the  cruel  knives  of  reaping  ma- 
chines, and  from  instruments  with  triple  prongs ; 
and  lighting  up  with  a  hideous  glare  the  black 
sooty  recesses  of  the  smithy. 

"  Keep's  a',"  whispered  Hillocks,  clutching  my 
arm,  "  it's  little  better  than  the  ill  place.  I  wish 
to  gudeness  I  wes  safe  in  ma  ain  hoose." 

These  were  only  indecisive  skirmishes,  for  one 
evening  Donald  came  to  my  den  with  despair 
written  on  every  feature,  and  I  knew  that  fighting 
had  begun  at  the  centre,  and  that  he  was  worsted. 

It  was  half  an  hour  before  he  became  articulate, 
during  which  time  he  sighed  as  if  the  end  of  all 
things  had  come,  and  I  caught  the  word  scapegoat 
twice ;  but  at  last  he  told  me  that  he  had  resigned 
his  eldership,  and  would  absent  himself  in  future 
from  the  Free  Kirk. 

"  It  hass  been  a  weary  winter  when  minister  and 
people  hef  gone  into  captivity,  and  on  Sabbath  the 
word  wass  taken  altogether  from  the  minister's 
mouth,  and  he  spake  a  language  which  we  under- 


AGAINST  PRINCIPALITIES  AND  POWERS.      55 

stood  not  [it  was  the  first  of  three  sermons  on  the 
Hexateuch,  and  had  treated  of  the  Jehovistic  and 
Elohistic  documents  with  much  learning],  and  I 
will  be  asking  all  the  way  back,  '  Iss  it  I  ? '  '  Iss 
it  I?' 

"  Oh,  yes !  and  when  I  opened  my  Bible  this  iss 
the  word  I  will  see,  '  That  thou  doest,  do  quickly/ 
and  I  knew  it  wass  my  sins  that  had  brought  great 
judgments  on  the  people,  and  turned  the  minister 
into  a  man  of  stammering  lips  and  another  tongue. 

"  It  wass  a  mercy  that  the  roof  did  not  fall  and 
bury  all  the  people  with  me ;  but  we  will  not  be 
tempting  the  Almighty,  for  I  hef  gone  outside,  and 
now  there  will  be  peace  and  blessing." 

When  we  left  the  lighted  room  and  stood  on  the 
doorstep,  Donald  pointed  to  the  darkness.  "  There 
is  no  star,  and  you  will  be  remembering  what  John 
saw  when  the  door  opened  and  Judas  went  out. 
•  It  wass  night ' — oh,  yes  !  it  iss  night  for  me,  but  it 
will  be  light  for  them." 

As  weeks  went  past,  and  Donald  was  seen 
neither  at  Kirk  nor  market,  my  heart  went  out 
to  the  lonely  man  in  his  soul  conflict,  and,  al- 
though there  was  no  help  in  me,  I  went  to  ask 
how  it  fared  with  him.  After  the  footpath  disen- 
tangled itself  from  the  pine  woods  and  crossed  the 
burn  by  two  fir  trees  nailed  together,  it  climbed 
a  steep  ascent  to  Donald's  house,  but  I  had  barely 
touched  the  foot  when  I  saw  him  descending,  his 
head  in  the  air,  and  his  face  shining.  Before  any 
words  passed,  I  knew  that  the  battle  had  been 
fought  and  won. 


$6  A   HIGHLAND  MYSTIC. 

"  It  wass  last  night,  and  I  will  be  coming  to  tell 
you.  Satan  hass  gone  like  darkness  when  the  sun 
ariseth,  and  I  hef  been  delivered." 

There  are  stories  one  cannot  hear  sitting,  and 
so  we  paced  the  meadow  below,  rich  in  primroses, 
with  a  sloping  bank  of  gorse  behind  us  and  the 
pines  before  us,  and  the  water  breaking  over  the 
stones  at  our  feet.  ' 

"  It  is  three  weeks  since  I  saw  you,  and  all  that 
time  I  hef  been  wandering  on  the  hill  by  day  and 
lying  in  the  barn  at  night,  for  it  wass  not  good  to 
be  with  people,  and  Satan  wass  always  saying  to 
me,  Judas  went  to  •  his  own  place.'  My  dog  will 
lay  his  head  on  my  knee  and  be  sorry  for  me,  and 
the  dumb  animals  will  be  looking  at  me  out  of 
their  great  eyes,  and  be  moaning. 

"  The  lads  are  goot  singers,  and  there  wass 
always  a  sound  of  Psalms  on  the  farm,  oh,  yes, 
and  it  was  pleasant  to  come  from  the  market  and 
hear  the  Psalms  at  the  foot  of  the  hill.  It  wass 
like  going  up  to  Jerusalem.  But  there  would  be 
no  Psalms  these  days,  for  the  lads  could  not  sing 
when  their  father's  soul  wass  going  down  into 
the  pit. 

"  Oh  no,  and  there  wass  no  prayer  last  night, 
but  I  told  the  lads  to  go  to  bed,  and  I  lay  down 
before  the  fire  to  wrestle  once  more  before  I 
perished. 

"  Janet  will  offer  this  word  and  the  other,  and 
I  will  be  trying  them  all,  but  Satan  was  tearing 
them  away  as  quick  as  I  could  speak,  and  he 
always  said,  •  his  own  place.' 


AGAINST  PRINCIPALITIES  AND  POWERS.      57 

"  '  There  iss  no  hope  for  me/  I  cried,  '  but  it  iss 
a  mercy  that  you  and  the  lads  will  be  safe  in  the 
City,  and  maybe  the  Lord  will  let  me  see  you  all 
through  the  gate.'  And  that  wass  lifting  me,  but 
then  I  will  hear  '  his  own  place/  '  his  own  place/ 
and  my  heart  began  to  fail,  and  I  wass  nigh  to 
despair. 

"  Then  I  heard  a  voice,  oh,  yes,  as  plain  as  you 
are  hearing  me,  '  The  blood  of  Jesus  Christ,  His 
Son,  cleanseth  us  from  all  sin.'  It  wass  like  a 
gleam  from  the  Mercy-seat,  but  I  would  be  waiting 
to  see  whether  Satan  had  any  answer,  and  my 
heart  was  standing  still.  But  there  wass  no  word 
from  him,'  not  one  word.  Then  I  leaped  to  my 
feet  and  cried,  '  Get  thee  behind  me,  Satan/  and  I 
will  look  round,  and  there  wass  no  one  to  be  seen 
but  Janet  in  her  chair,  with  the  tears  on  her  cheeks, 
and  she  wass  saying,  '  Thanks  be  to  God,  which 
giveth  us  the  victory  through  our  Lord  Jesus 
Christ.' 

"  The  lads  were  not  sleeping  fery  sound  when 
their  father  was  fighting  for  his  life,  oh,  no,  and  I 
am  not  saying  but  maybe  they  would  be  praying. 
It  wass  not  fery  long  before  they  came  down,  and 
Hamish  will  be  looking  at  my  face,  and  then  he 
will  get  the  books,  and  this  is  the  Psalm  we 
sang: 

" '  I  love  the  Lord,  because  my  voice 

And  prayers  He  did  hear. 
I,  while  I  live,  will  call  on  Him, 
Who  bowed  to  me  His  ear. 


S3  A  HIGHLAND  MYSTIC. 

* '  God  merciful  and  righteous  is, 
Yea,  gracious  is  our  Lord  ; 
God  saves  the  meek  ;  I  was  brought  low. 
He  did  me  help  afford.' " 

This  was  the  victory  of  Donald  Menzies,  anil  on 
reaching  home  I  marked  that  the  early  roses  were 
beginning  to  bloom  over  the  door  through  whick 
Donald  had  gone  out  into  the  darkness. 


HIS  MOTHER'S  SERMON. 


HE  was  an  ingenuous  lad,  with  the  callow  sim- 
plicity of  a  theological  college  still  untouched,  and 
had  arrived  on  the  preceding  Monday  at  the  Free 
Kirk  manse  with  four  cartloads  of  furniture  and 
a  maiden  aunt.  For  three  days  he  roamed  from 
room  to  room  in  the  excitement  of  householding, 
and  made  suggestions  which  were  received  with 
hilarious  contempt ;  then  he  shut  himself  up  in  his 
study  to  prepare  the  great  sermon,  and  his  aunt 
went  about  on  tiptoe.  During  meals  on  Friday  he 
explained  casually  that  his  own  wish  was  to  preach 
a  simple  sermon,  and  that  he  would  have  done  so 
had  he  been  a  private  individual,  but  as  he  had 
held  the  MacWhammel  scholarship  a  deliverance 
was  expected  by  the  country.  He  would  be  care- 
ful and  say  nothing  rash,  but  it  was  due  to  him- 
self to  state  the  present  position  of  theological 
thought,  and  he  might  have  to  quote  once  or  twice 
from  Ewaid. 

His  aunt  was  a  saint,  with  that  firm  grasp  of 

truth,  and  tender  mysticism,  whose  combination  is 

the  charm  of  Scottish  piety,  and   her  face  was 

troubled.    While  %he  minister  was  speaking  in  his 

* 


60  HIS  MOTHER'S  SERMON. 

boyish  complacency,  her  thoughts  were  in  a  room 
where  they  had  both  stood,  five  years  before,  by 
the  death-bed  of  his  mother. 

He  was  broken  that  day,  and  his  sobs  shook  the 
bed,  for  he  was  his  mother's  only  son  and  father- 
less, and  his  mother,  brave  and  faithful  to  the  last, 
was  bidding  him  farewell. 

"  Dinna  greet  like  that,  John,  nor  break  yir  hert, 
for  it's  the  will  o'  God,  and  that's  aye  best. 

"  Here's  my  watch  and  chain,"  placing  them  be- 
side her  son,  who  could  not  touch  them,  nor  would 
lift  his  head, "  and  when  ye  feel  the  chain  about 
yir  neck  it  will  mind  ye  o'  yir  mother's  arms. 

"Ye'ill  no  forget  me,  John,  I  ken  that  weel, 
and  I'll  never  forget  you.  I've  loved  ye  here,  and 
I'll  love  ye  yonder.  Th'ill  no  be  an  'oor  when  I'll 
no  pray  for  ye,  and  I'll  ken  better  what  to  ask  than 
I  did  here ;  sae  dinna  be  comfortless." 

Then  she  felt  for  his  head  and  stroked  it  once 
more,  but  he  could  not  look  nor  speak. 

"  Ye'ill  follow  Christ,  and  gin  He  offers  ye 
His  cross,  ye'ill  no  refuse  it,  for  He  aye  carries  the 
heavy  end  Himsel'.  He's  guided  yir  mother  a' 
thae  years,  and  been  as  guid  as  a  husband  since 
yir  father's  death,  and  He'ill  hold  me  fast  tae 
the  end.  He'ill  keep  ye  too,  and,  John,  I'll  be 
watchin*  for  ye.  Ye'ill  no  fail  me,"  and  her  poor 
cold  hand  that  had  tended  him  all  his  days  tight- 
ened on  his  head. 

But  he  could  not  speak,  and  her  voice  was  fail- 
ing fast. 

"  I  canna  see  ye  noo,  John,  but  I  know  yir  there, 


HIS  MOTHER'S  SERlfiotf.  6l 

and  I've  just  one  other  wish.  If  God  calls  ye  to 
the  ministry,  ye'ill  no  refuse,  an*  the  first  day  ye 
preach  in  yir  ain  kirk,  speak  a  gude  word  for 
Jesus  Christ,  an',  John,  I'll  hear  ye  that  day,  though 
ye'ill  no  see  me,  and  I'll  be  satisfied." 

A  minute  after  she  whispered,  "  Pray  for  me/' 
and  he  cried,  "  My  mother,  my  mother !*' 

It  was  a  full  prayer,  and  left  nothing  unasked  of 
Mary's  Son. 

"  John,"  said  his  aunt,  "  your  mother  is  with  the 
Lord,"  and  he  saw  death  for  the  first  time,  but  it 
was  beautiful  with  the  peace  that  passeth  ail 
understanding. 

Five  years  had  passed,  crowded  with  thought 
and  work,  and  his  aunt  wondered  whether  he 
remembered  that  last  request,  or  indeed  had  heard 
it  in  his  sorrow. 

"  What  are  you  thinking  about,  aunt  ?  Are  you 
afraid  of  my  theology  ?  " 

"  No,  John,  it's  no  that,  laddie,  for  I  ken  ye'ill 
say  what  ye  believe  to  be  true  withoot  fear  o'  man," 
and  she  hesitated. 

"Come,  out  with  it,  auntie:  you're  my  only 
mother  now,  you  know,"  and  the  minister  put  his 
arm  round  her,  "  as  well  as  the  kindest,  bonniest, 
goodest  auntie  ever  man  had." 

Below  his  student  self-conceit  he  was  a  good 
lad,  and  sound  of  heart. 

"  Shame  on  you,  John,  to  make  a  fule  o*  an  auld 
dune  body,  but  ye'ill  no  come  round  me  wi'  yir 
flattery.  I  ken  ye  ower  weel,"  and  as  she  caught 
the  likeness  in  his  face,  her  eyes  filled  suddenly. 


62  HIS  MOTHER'S  SERMON. 

"What's  the  matter,  auntie?  Will  ye  no  tell 
me?" 

"  Dinna  be  angry  wi'  me,  John,  but  a'm  con- 
cerned aboot  Sabbath,  for  aVe  been  praying  ever 
syne  ye  were  called  to  Drumtochty  that  it  micht  be 
a  great  day,  and  that  I  micht  see  ye  comin*  tae  yir 
people,  laddie,  wi'  the  beauty  o*  the  Lord  upon  ye, 
according  tae  the  auld  prophecy  :  «  How  beautiful 
upon  the  mountains  are  the  feet  of  him  that 
bringeth  good  tidings,  that  publisheth  peace,'  \ 
and  again  she  stopped. 

"  Go  on,  auntie,  go  on,"  he  whispered ;  "  say  all 
that's  in  yir  mind." 

"  It's  no  for  me  tae  advise  ye,  who  am  only  a 
simple  auld  woman,  who  ken's  naethin*  but  her 
Bible  and  the  Catechism,  and  it's  no  that  a'm 
feared  for  the  new  views,  or  aboot  yir  faith,  for  I 
aye  mind  that  there's  mony  things  the  Speerit  hes 
still  tae  teach  us,  and  I  ken  weel  the  man  that  fol- 
lows Christ  will  never  lose  his  way  in  ony  thicket. 
But  it's  the  fouk,  John,  a'm  anxious  aboot;  the 
flock  o'  sheep  the  Lord  hes  given  ye  tae  feed  for 
Him." 

She  could  not  see  his  face,  but  she  felt  him 
gently  press  her  hand,  and  took  courage. 

"  Ye  maun  mind,  laddie,  that  they're  no  clever 
and  learned  like  what  ye  are,  but  juist  plain  country 
fouk,  ilka  ane  wi*  his  ain  temptation,  an*  a'  sair 
trachled  wi'  mony  cares  o'  this  world.  They'ill 
need  a  clear  word  tae  comfort  their  herts  and  show 
them  the  way  everlasting.  Ye'ill  say  what's 
richt,  nae  doot  o'  that,  and  a'body  'ill  be  pleased 


HIS  MOTHER'S  SERMON.  63 

wi'  ye,  but,  oh,  laddie,  be  sure  ye  say  a  gude  word 
for  Jesus  Christ." 

The  minister's  face  whitened,  and  his  arm  re- 
laxed. He  rose  hastily  and  went  to  the  door,  but 
in  going  out  he  gave  his  aunt  an  understanding 
look,  such  as  passes  between  people  who  have 
stood  together  in  a  sorrow.  The  son  had  not  for- 
gotten his  mother's  request. 

The  manse  garden  lies  towards  the  west,  and 
as  the  minister  paced  its  little  square  of  turf  shel- 
tered by  fir  hedges,  the  sun  was  going  down  behind 
the  Grampians.  Black  massy  clouds  had  begun 
to  gather  in  the  evening  and  threatened  to  obscure 
the  sunset,  which  was  the  finest  sight  a  Drum- 
tochty  man  was  ever  likely  to  see,  and  a  means  of 
grace  to  every  sensible  heart  in  the  glen.  But  the 
sun  had  beat  back  the  clouds  on  either  side,  and 
shot  them  through  with  glory,  and  now  between 
piled  billows  of  light  he  went  along  a  shining  path- 
way  into  the  Gates  of  the  West.  The  minister 
stood  still  before  that  spectacle,  his  face  bathed  in 
the  golden  glory,  and  then  before  his  eyes  the  gold 
deepened  into  an  awful  red,  and  the  red  passed 
into  shades  of  violet  and  green,  beyond  painter's 
hand  or  the  imagination  of  man.  It  seemed  to 
him  as  if  a  victorious  saint  had  entered  through 
the  gates  into  the  city,  washed  in  the  blood  of  the 
Lamb,  and  the  after-glow  of  his  mother's  life  fell 
solemnly  on  his  soul.  The  last  trace  of  sunset 
had  faded  from  the  hills  when  the  minister 
came  in,  and  his  face  was  of  one  who  had  seen 
a  vision.  He  asked  his  aunt  to  have  worship 


$4  HIS  MOTHER'S  SERMON. 

with  the  servant,  for  he  must  be  alone  in  his 
study. 

It  was  a  cheerful  room  in  the  daytime,  with  its 
southern  window,  through  which  the  minister  saw 
the  roses  touching  the  very  glass  and  dwarf  apple 
trees  lining  the  garden  walks  ;  there  was  also  a 
western  window  that  he  might  watch  each  day 
close.  It  was  a  pleasant  room  now,  when  the  cur- 
tains were  drawn,  and  the  light  of  the  lamp  fell  on 
the  books  he  loved,  and  which  bade  him  welcome. 
One  by  one  he  had  arranged  the  hard-bought 
treasures  of  student  days  in  the  little  book-case, 
and  had  planned  for  himself  that  sweetest  of 
pleasures,  an  evening  of  desultory  reading.  But 
his  books  went  out  of  mind  as  he  looked  at  the 
sermon  shining  beneath  the  glare  of  the  lamp  and 
demanding  judgment.  He  had  finished  its  last 
page  with  honest  pride  that  afternoon,  and  had 
declaimed  it,  facing  the  southern  window,  with 
a  success  that  amazed  himself.  His  hope  was 
that  he  might  be  kept  humble,  and  not  called  to 
Edinburgh  for  at  least  two  years ;  and  now  he 
lifted  the  sheets  with  fear.  The  brilliant  opening, 
with  its  historical  parallel,  this  review  of  modern 
thought  reinforced  by  telling  quotations,  that 
trenchant  criticism  of  old-fashioned  views,  would 
not  deliver.  For  the  audience  had  vanished,  and 
left  one  careworn,  but  ever  beautiful  face,  whose 
gentle  eyes  were  waiting  with  a  yearning  look. 
Twice  he  crushed  the  sermon  in  his  hands,  and 
turned  to  the  fire  his  aunt's  care  had  kindled,  and 
twice  he  repented  and  smoothed  it  out.  What 


HIS  MOTHER'S  SERMON.  65 

else  could  he  say  now  to  the  people  ?  and  then  in 
the  stillness  of  the  room  he  heard  a  voice,  "  Speak 
a  gude  word  for  Jesus  Christ." 

Next  minute  he  was  kneeling  on  the  hearth,  and 
pressing  the  magnum  opus,  that  was  to  shake 
Drumtochty,  into  the  heart  of  the  red  fire,  and  he 
saw,  half-smiling  and  half  weeping,  the  impressive 
words  "  Semitic  environment  "  shrivel  up  and  dis- 
appear. As  the  last  black  flake  fluttered  out  of 
sight,  the  face  looked  at  him  again,  but  this  time 
the  sweet  brown  eyes  were  full  of  peace. 

It  was  no  masterpiece,  but  only  the  crude  pro 
duction  of  a  lad  who  knew  little  of  letters  and 
nothing  of  the  world.  Very  likely  it  would  have 
done  neither  harm  nor  good,  but  it  was  his  best, 
and  he  gave  it  for  love's  sake,  and  I  suppose  that 
there  is  nothing  in  a  human  life  so  precious  to 
God,  neither  clever  words  nor  famous  deeds,  as 
the  sacrifices  of  love. 

The  moon  flooded  his  bedroom  with  silver  light, 
and  he  felt  the  presence  of  his  mother.  His  bed 
stood  ghostly  with  its  white  curtains,  and  he  re- 
membered how  every  night  his  mother  knelt  by  its 
side  in  prayer  for  him.  He  is  a  boy  once  more, 
and  repeats  the  Lord's  Prayer,  then  he  cries  again, 
"  My  mother !  my  mother !  "  and  an  indescribable 
contentment  fills  his  heart. 

His  prayer  next  morning  was  very  short,  but 
afterwards  he  stood  at  the  window,  for  a  space, 
and  when  he  turned,  his  aunt  said  : 

"  Ye  will  get  yir  sermon,  and  it  will  be  worth 
hearing." 


66  HIS  MOTHER'S  SERMOtf. 

"  How  did  ye  know  ?  " 

But  she  only  smiled,  "  I  heard  you  pray.v 

When  he  shut  himself  into  the  study  that  Satur- 
day morning,  his  aunt  went  into  her  room  above, 
and  he  knew  she  had  gone  to  intercede  for  him. 

An  hour  afterwards  he  was  pacing  the  garden 
in  such  anxious  thought  that  he  crushed  with  his 
foot  a  rose  lying  on  the  path,  and  then  she  saw  his 
face  suddenly  lighten,  and  he  hurried  to  the  house, 
but  first  he  plucked  a  bunch  of  forget-me-nots.  In 
the  evening  she  found  them  on  his  sermon. 

Two  hours  later — for  still  she  prayed  and 
watched  in  faithfulness  to  mother  and  son — she 
observed  him  come  out  and  wander  round  the 
garden  in  great  joy.  He  lifted  up  the  soiled  rose 
and  put  it  in  his  coat ;  he  released  a  butterfly 
caught  in  some  mesh;  he  buried  his  face  in 
fragrant  honeysuckle.  Then  she  understood  that 
his  heart  was  full  of  love,  and  was  sure  that  it 
would  be  well  on  the  morrow. 

When  the  bell  began  to  ring,  the  minister  rose 
from  his  knees  and  went  to  his  aunt's  room  to  be 
robed,  for  this  was  a  covenant  between  them. 

His  gown  was  spread  out  in  its  black  silken 
glory,  but  he  sat  down  in  despair. 

"  Auntie,  whatever  shall  we  do,  for  I've  forgotten 
the  bands?" 

"  But  I've  not  forgot  them,  John,  and  here  are 
six  pair  wrought  with  my  own  hands,  and  now  sit 
still  and  I'll  tie  them  round  my  laddie's  neck." 

When  she  had  given  the  last  touch,  and  he  was 
ready  to  go,  a  sudden  seriousness  fell  upon  them. 


HIS  MOTHER'S  SERMON.  67 

"  Kiss  me,  auntie." 

"  For  your  mother,  and  her  God  be  with  you," 
and  then  he  went  through  the  garden  and  under- 
neath the  honeysuckle  and  into  the  kirk,  where 
every  Free  Churchman  in  Drumtochty  that  could 
get  out  of  bed,  and  half  the  Established  Kirk,  were 
waiting  in  expectation. 

I  sat  with  his  aunt  in  the  minister's  pew,  and 
shall  always  be  glad  that  I  was  at  that  service. 
When  winter  lies  heavy  upon  the  glen  I  go  upon 
my  travels,  and  in  my  time  have  seen  many  reli- 
gious functions.  I  have  been  in  Mr.  Spurgeon's 
Tabernacle,  where  the  people  wept  one  minute  and 
laughed  the  next ;  have  heard  Canon  Liddon  in  St. 
Paul's,  and  the  sound  of  that  high,  clear  voice 
is  still  with  me,  "  Awake,  awake,  put  on  thy 
strength,  O  Zion ; "  have  seen  High  Mass  in 
St.  Peter's,  and  stood  in  the  dusk  of  the  Duomo 
at  Florence  when  Padre  Agostino  thundered 
against  the  evils  of  the  day.  But  I  never  realised 
the  unseen  world  as  I  did  that  day  in  the  Free 
Kirk  of  Drumtochty. 

It  is  impossible  to  analyse  a  spiritual  effect, 
because  it  is  largely  an  atmosphere,  but  certain 
circumstances  assisted.  One  was  instantly  pre- 
possessed in  favour  of  a  young  minister  who  gave 
out  the  second  paraphrase  at  his  first  service,  for  it 
declared  his  filial  reverence  and  won  for  him  the 
blessing  of  a  cloud  of  witnesses.  No  Scottish  man 
can  ever  sing, 

"  God  of  our  fathers,  be  the  God 
Of  their  succeeding  race," 


68  HIS  MOTHER'S  SERMON. 

with  a  dry  heart.  It  satisfied  me  at  once  that  the 
minister  was  of  a  fine  temper  when,  after  a  brave 
attempt  to  join,  he  hid  his  face  and  was  silent 
We  thought  none  the  worse  of  him  that  he  was 
nervous,  and  two  or  three  old  people  who  had 
suspected  self-sufficiency  took  him  to  their  hearts 
when  the  minister  concluded  the  Lord's  prayer 
hurriedly,  having  omitted  two  petitions.  But  we 
knew  it  was  not  nervousness  which  made  him 
pause  for  ten  seconds  after  praying  for  widows  and 
orphans,  and  in  the  silence  which  fell  upon  us  the 
Divine  Spirit  had  free  access.  His  youth  com- 
mended him,  since  he  was  also  modest,  for  every 
mother  had  come  with  an  inarticulate  prayer  that 
the  "  puir  laddie  wud  dae  weel  on  his  first  day,  and 
him  only  twenty-four."  Texts  I  can  never  remem- 
ber, nor,  for  that  matter,  the  words  of  sermons  * 
but  the  subject  was  Jesus  Christ,  and  before  he 
had  spoken  five  minutes  I  was  convinced,  who  am 
outside  dogmas  and  churches,  that  Christ  was 
present.  The  preacher  faded  from  before  one's 
eyes,  and  there  rose  the  figure  of  the  Nazarene,  best 
lover  of  every  human  soul,  with  a  face  of  tender 
patience  such  as  Sarto  gave  the  Master  in  the 
Church  of  the  Annunziata,  and  stretching  out  His 
hands  to  old  folk  and  little  children  as  He  did, 
before  His  death,  in  Galilee.  His  voice  might  be 
heard  any  moment,  as  I  have  imagined  it  in  my 
lonely  hours  by  the  winter  fire  or  on  the  solitary 
hills — soft,  low,  and  sweet,  penetrating  like  music 
to  the  secret  of  the  heart,  "  Come  unto  Me  .  .  . 
and  I  will  give  you  rest." 


HIS  MOTHERS  SERMON".  69 

During  a  pause  in  the  sermon  I  glanced  up  the 
church,  and  saw  the  same  spell  held  the  people, 
Donald  Menzies  had  long  ago  been  caught  into  the 
third  heaven,  and  was  now  hearing  words  which  it 
is  not  lawful  to  utter.  Campbell  in  his  watch-tower 
at  the  back  had  closed  his  eyes,  and  was  praying. 
The  women  were  weeping  quietly,  and  the  rugged 
faces  of  our  men  were  subdued  and  softened,  as 
when  the  evening  sun  plays  on  the  granite  stone. 

But  what  will  stand  out  for  ever  before  my  mind 
was  the  sight  of  Marget  Howe.  Her  face  was  as 
white  as  death,  and  her  wonderful  gray  eyes  were 
shining  through  a  mist  of  tears,  so  that  I  caught 
the  light  in  the  manse  pew.  She  was  thinking  of 
George,  and  had  taken  the  minister  to  her  heart. 

The  elders,  one  by  one,  gripped  the  minister's 
hand  in  the  vestry,  and,  though  plain,  homely  men, 
they  were  the  godliest  in  the  glen  ;  but  no  man 
spoke  save  Burnbrae. 

"  I  a*  but  lost  ae  fairm  for  the  Free  Kirk,  and  I 
wud  hae  lost  ten  tae  be  in  the  Kirk  this  day." 

Donald  walked  with  me  homewards,  but  would 
only  say ; 

"  There  was  a  man  sent  from  God  whose  name 
was  John."  At  the  cottage  he  added,  4<  The 
friend  of  the  bridegroom  rejoiced  greatly  because 
of  the  bridegroom's  voice." 

Beneath  the  honeysuckle  at  his  garden  gate  a 
woman  was  waiting. 

"  My  name  is  Marget  Howe,  and  I'm  the  wife  of 
William  Howe  of  Whinnie  Knowe.  My  only  son 
wes  preparin'  for  the  ministry,  but  God  wanted  him 


70  HIS  MOTHER'S  SERMON. 

nearly  a  year  syne.  When  ye  preached  the  Evan- 
gel o'  Jesus  the  day  I  heard  his  voice,  and  I  loved 
you.  Ye  hev  nae  mither  on  earth,  I  hear,  and  I 
hae  nae  son,  and  I  wantit  tae  say  that  if  ye  evet 
wish  tae  speak  to  ony  woman  as  ye  wud  tae  yir 
mither,  come  tae  Whinnie  Knowe,  an'  I'll  coont  it 
ane  of  the  Lord's  consolations." 

His  aunt  could  only  meet  him  in  the  study,  and 
when  he  looked  on  her  his  lip  quivered,  for  his 
heart  was  wrung  with  one  wistful  regret. 

"  Oh,  auntie,  if  she  had  only  been  spared  to  sec 
this  day,  and  her  prayers  answered." 

But  his  aunt  flung  her  arms  round  his  neck. 

"  Dinna  be  cast  doon,  laddie,  nor  be  unbelievin'. 
Yir  mither  has  heard  every  word,  and  is  satisfied, 
for  ye  did  it  in  remembrance  o'  her,  and  yon  was 
yir  mither's  sermon." 


THE  TRANSFORMATION  OF 
LACHLAN  CAMPBELL 


CHAPTER  I. 

A  GRAND  INQUISITOR. 

THE  Free  Kirk  of  Drumtochty  had  no  gallery, 
but  a  section  of  seats  at  the  back  was  raised  two 
feet,  and  anyone  in  the  first  pew  might  be  said  to 
sit  in  the  "briest  o'  the  laft."  When  Lachlan 
Campbell  arrived  from  the  privileged  parish  of 
Auchindarroch,  where  the  "  Men  "  ruled  with  iron 
hand  and  no  one  shaved  on  Sabbath,  he  examined 
the  lie  of  country  with  the  eye  of  a  strategist,  and 
seized  at  once  a  corner  seat  on  the  crest  of  the 
hill.  From  this  vantage  ground,  with  his  back  to 
the  wall  and  a  clear  space  left  between  himself 
and  his  daughter  Flora,  he  had  an  easy  command 
of  the  pulpit,  and  within  six  months  had  been  con- 
stituted a  court  of  review  neither  minister  nor 
people  could  lightly  disregard.  It  was  not  that 
Lachlan  spoke  hastily  or  at  length,  for  his  policy 
was  generally  a  silence  pregnant  with  judgment, 
and  his  deliverances  were  for  the  most  part  in 
parables,  none  the  less  awful  because  hard  of  in* 


72     TRANSFORMATION  OF  LACHLAN  CAMPBELL. 

terpretation.  Like  every  true  Celt,  he  had  the 
power  of  reserve,  and  knew  the  value  of  mystery. 
His  voice  must  not  be  heard  in  irresponsible  gos- 
sip at  the  Kirk  door,  and  he  never  condescended  to 
the  level  of  Mrs.  MacFadyen,  our  recognised  ser- 
mon taster,  who  criticised  everything  in  the  tech- 
nique of  the  pulpit,  from  the  number  of  heads  in  a 
sermon,  to  the  air  with  which  a  probationer  used 
his  pocket-handkerchief.  She  lived  in  the  eye  of 
the  public,  and  gave  her  opinions  with  the  light 
heart  of  a  newspaper  writer ;  but  Lachlan  kept 
himself  '  in  the  shadow  and  wore  a  manner  of 
studied  humility  as  became  the  administrator  of  the 
Holy  Office  in  Drumtochty. 

Lachlan  was  a  little  man,  with  a  spare,  wiry  body, 
iron-gray  hair  and  whiskers  carefully  arranged, 
a  keen  old-fashioned  face  sharpened  by  much 
spiritual  thinking,  and  eyes  that  looked  at  you  from 
beneath  shaggy  eyebrows  as  from  some  other 
world.  His  face  had  an  irresistible  suggestion  of 
a  Skye  terrier,  the  most  serious  of  animals,  with 
the  hair  reduced,  and  Drumsheugh  carried  us  all 
with  him  when,  in  a  moment  of  inspiration,  he 
declared  that  "  the  body  looks  as  if  he  hed  juist 
come  oot  'o  the  Ark."  He  was  a  shepherd  to 
trade,  and  very  faithful  in  all  his  work,  but  his  life 
business  was  theology,  from  Supralapsarianism  in 
Election  to  the  marks  of  faith  in  a  believer's  heart. 
His  library  consisted  of  some  fifty  volumes  of 
ancient  divinity,  and  lay  on  an  old  oak  kist  close  to 
his  hand,  where  he  sat  beside  the  fire  of  a  winter 
night.  When  the  sheep  were  safe  and  his  day's 


A   GRAND  INQUISITOR.  73 

labour  was  over,  he  read  by  the  light  of  the  fire 
and  the  "crusie"  (oil-lamp)  overhead,  Witsius  on 
the  Covenants,  or  Rutherford's  "Christ  Dying," or 
Bunyan's  "  Grace  Abounding,"  or  Owen's  "  i3Oth 
Psalm,"  while  the  collies  slept  at  his  feet,  and 
Flora  put  the  finishing  stroke  to  some  bit  of  rustic 
finery.  Worship  was  always  coloured  by  the  even- 
ing's reading,  but  the  old  man  never  forgot  to 
pray  that  they  both  might  have  a  place  in  the 
everlasting  covenant,  and  that  the  backslidings  of 
Scotland  might  be  healed. 

As  our  inquisitor,  Lachlan  searched  anxiously 
for  sound  doctrine  and  deep  experience,  but  he 
was  not  concerned  about  learning,  and  fluency  he 
regarded  with  disgust.  When  a  young  minister 
from  Muirtown  stamped  twice  in  his  prayer  at  the 
Drumtochty  Fast,  and  preached  with  great  elo- 
quence from  the  words,  "  And  there  was  no  more 
sea,"  repeating  the  text  at  the  end  of  each  para- 
graph, and  concluding  the  sermon  with  "Lord 
Ullin's  Daughter,"  the  atmosphere  round  Lachlan 
became  electric,  and  no  one  dared  to  speak  to  him 
outside.  He  never  expressed  •  his  mind  on  this 
melancholy  exhibition,  but  the  following  Sabbath 
he  explained  the  principle  on  which  they  elected 
ministers  at  Auchindarroch,  which  was  his  stand- 
ard of  perfection. 

*'Six  young  men  came,  and  they  did  not  sing 
songs  in  the  pulpit.  Oh,  no,  they  preached  fery 
well,  and  I  said  to  Angus  Bain, '  They  are  all  goot 
lads,  and  there  is  nothing  wrong  with  their 
doctrine/ 


74     TRANSFORMATION  OF  LACHLAN  CAMPBELL. 

"  Angus  \vass  one  of  the  '  Men,'  and  saw  what 
wass  hidden  from  me,  and  he  will  be  saying, «  Oh, 
yes,  they  said  their  lesson  fery  pretty,  but  I  did 
not  see  them  tremble,  Lachlan  Campbell.  Another 
ks  coming,  and  seven  is  a  goot  number.' 

"  It  wass  next  Sabbath  that  he  came,  and  he  wass 
a  white  man,  giving  out  his  text, '  Blessed  are  they 
which  are  called  unto  the  marriage  supper  of  the 
Lamb,'  and  I  wass  thinking  that  the  Lord  had  laid 
too  great  a  burden  on  the  lad,  and  that  he  could 
not  be  fit  for  such  a  work.  It  wass  not  more  than 
ten  minutes  before  he  will  be  trying  to  tell  us  what 
he  wass  seeing,  and  will  not  hef  the  words.  He 
had  to  go  down  from  the  pulpit  as  a  man  that  had 
been  in  the  heavenly  places,  and  wass  stricken 
dumb. 

"  •  It  iss  the  Lord  that  has  put  me  to  shame  this 
day/  he  said  to  the  elders, '  and  I  will  nefer  show 
my  face  again  in  Auchindarroch,  for  I  ought  not 
to  have  meddled  with  things  too  high  for  me.' 

••*  You  will  show  your  face  here  every  Sabbath/ 
answered  Angus  Bain,  •  for  the  Lord  said  unto  me, 
*  Wait  for  the  man  that  trembles  at  the  Word,  and 
iss  not  able  to  speak,  and  it  will  be  a  sign  unto 
you," '  and  a  fery  goot  minister  he  wass,  and  made 
the  hypocrites  in  Zion  to  be  afraid." 

Lachlan  dealt  tenderly  with  our  young  Free 
Kirk  minister,  for  the  sake  of  his  first  day,  and 
passed  over  some  very  shallow  experience  without 
remark,  but  an  autumn  sermon  roused  him  to  a 
sense  of  duty.  For  some  clays  a  storm  of  wind  and 
rain  had  been  stripping  the  leaves  from  the  trees 


A    GRAND  INQUISITOR.  75 

and  gathering  them  in  sodden  heaps  upon  the 
ground.  The  minister  looked  out  on  the  garden 
where  many  holy  thoughts  had  visited  him,  and 
his  heart  sank  like  lead,  for  it  was  desolate,  and  of 
all  its  beauty  there  remained  but  one  rose  clinging 
to  its  stalk,  drenched  and  faded.  It  seemed  as  if 
youth,  with  its  flower  of  promise  and  hope,  had 
been  beaten  down,  and  a  sense  of  loneliness  fell  on 
his  soul.  He  had  no  heart  for  work,  and  crept  to 
bed,  broken  and  dispirited.  During  the  night  the 
rain  ceased,  and  the  north  wind  began  to  blow, 
which  cleanses  nature  in  every  pore,  and  braces 
each  true  man  for  his  battle.  The  morrow  was 
one  of  those  glorious  days  which  herald  winter,  and 
as  the  minister  tramped  along  the  road,  where  the 
dry  leaves  crackled  beneath  his  feet,  and  climbed 
to  the  moor  with  head  on  high,  the  despair  of  yes- 
terday vanished.  The  wind  had  ceased,  and  the 
glen  lay  at  his  feet,  distinct  in  the  cold,  clear  air, 
from  the  dark  mass  of  pines  that  closed  its  upper 
end  to  the  swelling  woods  of  oak  and  beech  that 
cut  it  off  from  the  great  Strath.  He  had  received 
a  warm  welcome  from  all  kinds  of  people,  and  now 
he  marked  with  human  sympathy  each  little  home- 
stead with  its  belt  of  firs  against  the  winter's 
storms,  and  its  stackyard  where  the  corn  had  been 
gathered  safe;  the  ploughman  and  his  horses 
cutting  brown  ribbons  in  the  bare  stubble ;  dark 
squares  where  the  potato  stalks  have  withered  to 
the  ground,  and  women  are  raising  the  roots,  and 
here  and  there  a  few  cattle  still  out  in  the  fields. 
His  eyes  fell  on  the  great  wood  through  which  he 


76     TRANSFORMATION  OF  LACHLAN  CAMPBELL. 

had  rambled  in  August,  now  one  blaze  of  colour, 
rich  green  and  light  yellow,  with  patches  of  fiery 
red  and  dark  purple.  God  seemed  to  have  given 
him  a  sermon,  and  he  wrote  that  evening,  like  one 
inspired,  on  the  same  parable  of  nature  Jesus 
loved,  with  its  subtle  interpretation  of  our  sorrows, 
joys,  trust,  and  hope.  People  told  me  that  it  was 
a  "  rael  bonnie  sermon,"  and  that  Netherton  had 
forgotten  his  after-sermon  snuff,  although  it  was 
his  turn  to  pass  the  box  to  Burnbrae. 

The  minister  returned  to  his  study  in  a  f  r»e  glow 
of  body  and  soul,  to  find  a  severe  figure  standing 
motionless  in  the  middle  of  the  room. 

"  Wass  that  what  you  call  a  sermon?"  said 
Lachlan  Campbell,  without  other  greeting. 

John  Carmichael  was  still  so  full  of  joy  that  he 
did  not  catch  the  tone,  and  explained  with  college 
pedantry  that  it  was  hardly  a  sermon,  nor  yet  a 
lecture. 

"  You  may  call  it  a  meditation." 

"  I  will  be  calling  it  an  essay  without  one  bite  of 
grass  for  starving  sheep." 

Then  the  minister  awoke  from  a  pleasant  dream, 
as  if  one  had  flung  cold  water  on  his  naked 
body. 

"  What  was  wrong  ?  "  with  an  anxious  look  at 
the  stern  little  man  who  of  a  sudden  had  become 
his  judge. 

"  There  wass  nothing  right,  for  I  am  not  think- 
ing that  trees  and  leaves  and  stubble  fields  will 
save  our  souls,  and  I  did  not  hear  about  sin  and 
repentance  and  the  work  of  Christ.  It  iss  sound 


A    GRAND  INQUISITOR.  77 

doctrine  that  we  need,  and  a  great  peety  you  are 
not  giving  it." 

The  minister  had  been  made  much  of  in  college 
circles,  and  had  a  fair  idea  of  himself.  He  was  a 
kindly  lad,  but  he  did  not  see  why  he  should  be 
lectured  by  an  old  Highlandman  who  read  nothing 
except  Puritans,  and  was  blind  with  prejudice. 
When  they  parted  that  Sabbath  afternoon  it  was 
the  younger  man  that  had  lost  his  temper,  and  the 
other  did  not  offer  to  shake  hands. 

Perhaps  the  minister  would  have  understood 
Lachlan  better  if  he  had  known  that  the  old  man 
could  not  touch  food  when  he  got  home,  and  spent 
the  evening  in  a  fir  wood  praying  for  the  lad  he 
had  begun  to  love.  And  Lachlan  would  have 
had  a  lighter  heart  if  he  had  heard  the  minister 
questioning  himself  whether  he  had  denied  the 
Evangel  or  sinned  against  one  of  Christ's  disciples. 
They  argued  together  ;  they  prayed  apart. 

Lachlan  was  careful  to  say  nothing,  but  the  con- 
gregation felt  that  his  hand  was  against  the  minis- 
ter, and  Burnbrae  took  him  to  task. 

"  Ye  maunna  be  ower  hard  on  him,  Maister 
Campbell,  for  he's  but  young,  and  comin'  on  fine. 
He  hes  a  hearty  word  for  ilka  body  on  the  road, 
and  the  sicht  o'  his  fresh  young  face  in  the  poopit 
is  a  sermon  itsel'." 

"  You  are  wrong,  Burnbrae,  if  you  will  be  think- 
ing that  my  heart  iss  not  warm  to  the  minister,  for 
it  went  out  unto  him  from  the  day  he  preached 
his  first  sermon.  But  the  Lord  regardeth  not  the 
countenance  of  man." 


78      TRANSFORMATION  OF  LACHLAN  CAMPBELL. 

"  Nae  doot,  nae  doot !  but  I  canna  see  onything 
wrang  in  his  doctrine  ;  it  wudna  be  reasonable  tae 
expect  auld-fashioned  sermons  frae  a  young  man, 
and  I  wud  coont  them  barely  honest.  A'm  no 
denying  that  he  gaes  far  afield,  and  tak's  us  tae 
strange  lands  when  he's  on  his  travels,  but  ye'ill 
acknowledge  that  he  gaithers  mony  treasures,  and 
he  aye  comes  back  tae  Christ." 

"  No,  I  will  not  be  saying  that  John  Carmichael 
does  not  love  Christ,  for  I  hef  seen  the  Lord  in  his 
sermons  like  a  face  through  a  lattice.  Oh,  yes !  and 
I  hef  felt  the  fragrance  of  the  myrrh.  But  I  am 
not  liking  his  doctrine,  and  I  wass  thinking  that 
some  day  there  will  be  no  original  sin  left  in  the 
parish  of  Drumtochty." 

It  was  about  this  time  that  the  minister  made 
a  great  mistake,  although  he  was  trying  to  do  his 
best  for  the  people,  and  always  obeyed  his  con- 
science. He  used  to  come  over  to  the  Cottage  for 
a  ramble  through  my  books,  and  one  evening  he 
told  me  that  he  had  prepared  what  he  called  a 
"  course  "  on  Biblical  criticism,  and  was  going  to 
place  Drumtochty  on  a  level  with  Germany.  It 
was  certainly  a  strange  part  for  me  to  advise  a 
minister,  but  I  had  grown  to  like  the  lad,  because 
he  was  full  of  enthusiasm  and  too  honest  for  this 
world,  and  I  implored  him  to  be  cautious.  Drum- 
tochty was  not  anxious  to  be  enlightened  about  the 
authors  of  the  Pentateuch,  being  quite  satisfied 
with  Moses,  and  it  was  possible  that  certain  good 
men  in  Drumtochty  might  resent  any  interference 
with  their  hereditary  notions.  Why  could  be  not 


A    GRAND  INQUISITOR.  79 

read  this  subject  for  his  own  pleasure,  and  teach  it 
quietly  in  classes  ?  Why  give  himself  away  in  the 
pulpit  ?  This  worldly  counsel  brought  the  minis- 
ter to  a  white  heat,  and  he  rose  to  his  feet.  Had 
he  had  not  been  ordained  to  feed  his  people  with 
truth,  and  was  he  not  bound  to  tell  them  all  he 
knew?  We  were  living  in  an  age  of  transition, 
and  he  must  prepare  Christ's  folk  that  they  be  not 
taken  unawares.  If  he  failed  in  his  duty  through 
any  fear  of  consequences,  men  would  rise  after- 
wards to  condemn  him  for  cowardice,  and  lay 
their  unbelief  at  his  door.  When  he  ceased  I  was 
ashamed  of  my  cynical  advice,  and  resolved  never 
again  to  interfere  with  "  courses  "  or  other  matters 
above  the  lay  mind.  But  greater  knowledge  of 
the  world  had  made  me  a  wise  prophet. 

Within  a  month  the  Free  Kirk  was  in  an  up- 
roar, and  when  I  dropped  in  one  Sabbath  morn- 
ing the  situation  seemed  to  me  a  very  pathetic 
tragedy.  The  minister  was  offering  to  the  honest 
country-folk  a  mass  of  immature  and  undigested 
details  about  the  Bible,  and  they  were  listening 
with  wearied,  perplexed  faces.  Lachlan  Campbell 
sat  grim  and  watchful,  without  a  sign  of  flinching, 
but  even  from  the  Manse  pew  I  could  detect  the 
suffering  of  his  heart.  When  the  minister  blazed 
into  polemic  against  the  bigotry  of  the  old  school, 
the  iron  face  quivered  as  if  a  father  had  been 
struck  by  his  son.  Carmichael  looked  thin  and 
nervous  in  the  pulpit,  and  it  came  to  me  that  if 
new  views  are  to  be  preached  to  old-fashioned 
people  it  ought  not  to  be  bv  lads,  who  are  always 


80     TRANSFORMATION  OF  LACHLAN  CAMPBELL. 

heady  and  intolerant,  but  by  a  stout  man  of  middle 
age,  with  a  rich  voice  and  a  good-natured  manner. 
Had  Carmichael  rasped  and  girded  much  longer, 
one  would  have  believed  in  the  inspiration  of  the 
vowel  points,  and  I  left  the  church  with  a  low 
heart,  for  this  was  a  woeful  change  from  his 
first  sermon. 

Lachlan  would  not  be  pacified,  not  even  by  the 
plea  of  the  minister's  health. 

"  Oh,  yes !  I  am  seeing  that  he  is  ill  and  I  will 
be  as  sorry  as  any  man  in  Drumtochty.  But  it 
iss  not  too  much  work,  as  they  are  saying ;  it  iss 
the  judgment  of  God.  It  iss  not  goot  to  meddle 
with  Moses,  and  John  Carmichael  will  be  knowing 
that.  His  own  sister  wass  not  respectful  to  Moses, 
and  she  will  not  be  feeling  fery  well  next  day." 

But  Burnbrae  added  that  the  "  auld  man  cudna 
be  mair  cast  doon  if  he  hed  lost  his  dochter." 

The  peace  of  the  Free  Kirk  had  been  broken, 
and  the  minister  was  eating  out  his  heart,  when 
he  remembered  the  invitation  of  Marget  Howe,  and 
went  one  sweet  spring  day  to  Whinnie  Knowe. 

Marget  met  him  with  her  quiet  welcome  at  the 
garden  gate. 

"  Ye  hae  done  me  a  great  kindness  in  comin', 
Maister  Carmichael,  and  if  ye  please  we'ill  sit 
in  this  sunny  corner  which  is  dear  tae  me,  and 
ye'ill  tell  me  yir  troubles." 

So  they  sat  down  together  beside  the  brier  bush, 
and  after  one  glance  at  Marget's  face  the  minister 
opened  his  heart,  and  told  her  the  great  contro- 
versy with  Lachlan. 


A    GRAND  INQUISITOR.  8 1 

Marget  lifted  her  head  as  one  who  had  heard 
of  some  brave  deed,  and  there  was  a  ring  in  her 
voice. 

"  It  mak's  me  prood  before  God  that  there 
are  twa  men  in  Drumtochty  who  follow  their 
conscience  as  king,  and  coont  truth  dearer  than 
their  ain  freends.  It's  peetiful  when  God's 
bairns  fecht  through  greed  and  envy,  but  it's 
hertsome  when  they  are  wullin'  tae  wrestle 
aboot  the  Evangel,  for  surely  the  end  o'  it  a* 
maun  be  peace. 

"  A've  often  thocht  that  in  the  auld  days 
baith  the  man  on  the  rack  and  the  inqueesitor 
himself  might  be  gude  men  and  accepted  o' 
God,  and  maybe  the  inqueesitor  suffered  mair 
than  the  martyr.  A'm  thinkin',  Maister  Car- 
michael,  that  it's  been  hardest  on  Lachlan." 

The  minister's  head  was  buried  in  his  hands, 
but  his  heart  was  with  Marget. 

"  It's  a  strange  buik  the  Bible,  and  no  the  buik 
we  wud  hae  made,  tae  judge  by  oor  bit  creeds  and 
confessions.  It's  like  a  head  o'  aits  in  the  harvest 
time.  There's  the  ear  that  hauds  the  grain  and 
keeps  it  safe,  and  that's  the  history,  and  there's 
often  no  mickle  nutriment  in  it ;  then  there's  the 
corn  lying  in  the  ear,  which  is  the  Evangel  frae 
Eden  tae  Revelation,  and  that  is  the  bread  o'  the 
soul.  But  the  corn  maun  be  threshed  first  and  the 
cauf  [chaff]  cleaned  aff.  It's  a  bonnie  sicht  tae  see 
the  pure  grain  fallin'  like  a  rinnin'  burn  on  the 
corn-room  floor,  and  a  glint  o'  the  sun  through  the 
window  turning  it  intae  gold.  But  the  stour  [dust] 


6 2     TRA  NSFORMA  TION  OF  LA  CHL A  N  CA  MPBELL. 

o'  the  cauf  room  is  mair  than  onybody  can  abide, 
and  the  cauf's  worth  naethin'  when  the  corn's 
awa." 

"  Ye  mean,"  said  the  minister,  "  that  my  study 
is  the  threshin'  mill,  and  that  some  of  the  chaff  has 
got  into  the  pulpit." 

"  Yir  no  offended,"  and  Marget's  voice  trem- 
bled. 

Then  the  minister  lifted  his  head  and  laughed 
aloud  with  joy,  while  a  swift  flash  of  humour  lit  up 
Marget's  face. 

"  You've  been  the  voice  of  God  to  me  this  day, 
Mrs.  Howe.  But  if  I  give  up  my  '  course,'  the 
people  will  misunderstand,  for  I  know  everything  I 
gave  was  true,  and  I  would  give  it  all  again,  if  it 
were  expedient." 

"  Nae  fear,  Maister  Carmichael ;  naebody  misun- 
derstands that  luves,  and  the  fouk  all  luve  ye,  and 
the  man  that  hauds  ye  dearest  is  Lachlan  Camp- 
bell. I  saw  the  look  in  his  een  that  canna  be  mis- 
ta'en." 

"  I'll  go  to  him  this  very  day,"  and  the  minister 
leaped  to  his  feet. 

"  Ye'ill  no  regret  it,"  said  Marget,  "  for  God 
will  give  ye  peace." 

Lachlan  did  not  see  the  minister  coming,  for  he 
was  busy  with  a  lamb  that  had  lost  its  way  and 
hurt  itself.  Carmichael  marked  with  a  growing 
tenderness  at  his  heart  how  gently  the  old  man 
washed  and  bound  up  the  wounded  leg,  all  the 
time  crooning  to  the  frightened  creature  in  the 
sweet  Gaelic  speech,  and  also  how  he  must  needs 


A    GRAND  INQUISITOR.  83 

give  the  lamb  a  drink  of  warm  milk  before  he  set 
it  free. 

When  he  rose  from  his  work  of  mercy,  he  faced 
the  minister. 

For  an  instant  Lachlan  hesitated,  and  then  at 
the  look  on  Carmichael's  face  he  held  out  both  his 
hands. 

"  This  iss  a  goot  day  for  me,  and  I  bid  you  ten 
thousand  welcomes." 

But  the  minister  took  the  first  word. 

"  You  and  I,  Lachlan,  have  not  seen  eye  to  eye 
about  some  things  lately,  and  I  am  not  here  to 
argue  which  is  nearer  the  truth,  because  perhaps 
we  may  always  differ  on  some  lesser  matters.  But 
once  I  spoke  rudely  to  you,  and  often  I  have  spoken 
unwisely  in  my  sermons.  You  are  an  old  man  and 
I  am  a  young,  and  I  ask  you  to  forgive  me  and  to 
pray  that  both  of  us  may  be  kept  near  the  heart  of 
our  Lord,  whom  we  love,  and  who  loves  us." 

No  man  can  be  so  courteous  as  a  Celt,  and 
Lachlan  was  of  the  pure  Highland  breed,  kindest 
of  friends,  fiercest  of  foes. 

"  You  hef  done  a  beautiful  deed  this  day,  Maister 
Carmichael ;  and  the  grace  of  God  must  hef  been 
exceeding  abundant  in  your  heart.  It  iss  this  man 
that  asks  your  forgiveness,  for  I  wass  full  of  pride, 
and  did  not  speak  to  you  as  an  old  man  should; 
but  God  iss  my  witness  that  I  would  hef  plucked 
out  my  right  eye  for  your  sake.  You  will  say 
every  word  God  gives  you,  and  I  will  take  as  much 
as  God  gives  me,  and  there  will  be  a  covenant 
between  us  as  long  as  we  live." 


84      TRANSFORMATION  OF  LACHLAN  CAMPBELL. 

They  knelt  together  on  the  earthen  floor  of  that 
Highland  cottage,  the  old  school  and  the  new, 
before  one  Lord,  and  the  only  difference  in  their 
prayers  was  that  the  young  man  prayed  they  might 
keep  the  faith  once  delivered  unto  the  saints,  while 
the  burden  of  the  old  man's  prayer  was  that  they 
might  be  led  into  all  truth. 

Lachlan's  portion  that  evening  ought  to  have 
been  the  slaying  of  Sisera,  from  the  Book  of  Judges, 
but  instead  he  read,  to  Flora's  amaaement — it  was 
the  night  before  she  left  her  home — the  thirteenth 
chapter  of  ist  Corinthians,  and  twice  he  repeated  to 
himself,  "  Now  we  see  through  a  glass  darkly,  but 
then  face  to  face." 


n. 

HIS  BITTER  SHAME, 

THE  Free  Kirk  people  were  very  proud  of  theif 
vestry  because  the  Established  Church  had  none, 
and  because  it  was  reasonably  supposed  to  be  the 
smallest  in  Scotland.  When  the  minister,  who 
touched  five  feet  eleven,  and  the  beadle,  who  was 
three  inches  taller,  assembled  for  the  procession, 
with  the  precentor,  a  man  of  fair  proportions,  there 
was  no  waste  ground  in  that  room,  and  any  mes- 
senger from  the  church  door  had  to  be  selected 
with  judgment.  "  Step  up,  Airchie,  man,  tae  the 
vestry,"  Burnbrae  would  say  to  the  one  under- 
sized man  in  Drumtochty,  "  and  tell  the  minister 
no  tae  forget  the  Jews.  Ye  can  birse  [push]  in  fine, 
but  it  wud  beat  me  to  get  by  the  door.  It's  a  bon- 
nie  bit  room,  but  three  fouk  stannin*  makes  it  con- 
trakit  for  another  man." 

It  was  eight  feet  by  eight,  and  consisted  largely 
of  two  doors  and  a  fireplace,  and  its  chief  glory 
was  a  portrait  of  Dr.  Chalmers,  whose  face,  dimly 
seen  in  the  light  of  the  lamp,  was  a  charter  of 
authority,  and  raised  the  proceedings  to  the  level 
of  history.  Lockers  on  either  side  of  the  mantel- 
piece contained  the  church  library,  which  abounded 


86     TRANSFORMATION  OF  LACHLAN  CAMPBELL. 

in  the  lives  of  Scottish  worthies,  and  was  never 
lightly  disturbed.  Where  there  was  neither  grate 
nor  door,  a  narrow  board  ran  along  the  wall,  on 
which  it  was  simply  a  point  of  honour  to  seat  the 
twelve  deacons,  who  met  once  a  month  to  raise 
the  Sustentation  Fund  by  modest,  heroic  sacrifices 
of  hard-working  people,  and  to  keep  the  slates  on 
the  church  roof  in  winter.  When  they  had  nothing 
else  to  do,  they  talked  about  the  stove  which  "  came 
out  in  '43,"  and,  when  it  was  in  good  humour, 
would  raise  the  temperature  in  winter  one  degree 
above  freezing.  Seating  the  court  was  a  work  of 
art,  and  could  only  be  achieved  by  the  repression 
of  the  smaller  men,  who  looked  out  from  the  loop- 
holes of  retreat,  the  projection  of  bigger  men  on  to 
their  neighbours'  knees,  and  the  absolute  elimina- 
tion of  Archie  Moncur,  whose  voice  made  motions 
on  temperance  from  the  lowest  depths.  Netherton 
was  always  the  twelfth  man  to  arrive,  and  nothing 
could  be  done  till  he  was  safely  settled.  Only 
some  six  inches  were  reserved  at  the  end  of  the 
bench,  and  he  was  a  full  sitter,  but  he  had  dis- 
covered a  trick  of  sitting  sideways  and  screwing 
his  leg  against  the  opposite  wall,  that  secured  the 
court  as  well  as  himself  in  their  places  on  the 
principle  of  a  compressed  spring.  When  this 
operation  was  completed,  Burnbrae  used  to  say  to 
the  minister,  who  sat  in  the  middle  on  a  cane  chair 
before  the  tiniest  of  tables — the  living  was  small, 
and  the  ministers  never  grew  fat  till  they  left — 

"We're  fine  and  comfortable  noo,  Moderator, 
and  ye  can  begin  business  as  sune  as  ye  like." 


HIS  BITTER  SHAME.  87 

As  there  were  only  six  elders  they  could  sit  in 
state,  besides  leaving  a  vacant  space  for  any  peni- 
tents who  came  to  confess  their  sins  and  receive 
absolution,  or  some  catechumen  who  wished  to  be 
admitted  to  the  Sacrament.  Carmichael  used  to 
say  that  a  meeting  of  Session  affected  his  imagina- 
tion, and  would  have  made  an  interior  for  Rem- 
brandt. On  one  side  of  the  table  sat  the  men  who 
represented  the  piety  of  the  district,  and  were  sup- 
posed to  be  "  far  ben  "  in  the  Divine  fellowship, 
and  on  the  other  some  young  girl  in  her  loneliness, 
who  wrung  her  handkerchief  in  terror  of  this 
dreaded  spiritual  court,  and  hoped  within  her 
heart  that  no  elder  would  ask  her  "  effectual  call- 
ing "  from  the  Shorter  Catechism  ;  while  the  little 
lamp,  hanging  from  the  ceiling  and  swinging 
gently  in  the  wind  that  had  free  access  from  every 
airt,  cast  a  fitful  light  on  the  fresh,  tearful  face  of 
the  girl  and  the  hard,  weather-beaten  countenances 
of  the  elders,  composed  into  a  serious  gravity  not 
untouched  by  tenderness.  They  were  little  else 
than  labouring  men,  but  no  one  was  elected  to 
that  court  unless  he  had  given  pledges  of  godli- 
ness, and  they  bore  themselves  as  men  who  had 
the  charge  of  souls. 

The  little  Sanhedrim  had  within  it  the  school  of 
Hillel,  which  was  swayed  by  mercy,  and  its  Rabbi 
was  Burnbrae ;  and  the  school  of  Shammai,  whose 
rule  was  inflexible  justice,  and  its  Rabbi  was 
Lachlan  Campbell.  Burnbrae  was  a  big-hearted 
man,  with  a  fatherly  manner,  and  had  a  genius 
for  dealing  with  "  young  communicants." 


88     TRANSFORMATION  OF  LACHLAN  CAMPBELL. 

"  Weel,  Jessie,  we're  awfu'  pleased  tae  think  yer 
gaein'  forrit,  and  the  Dominie  wes  tellin'  me  juist 
last  week  that  ye  did  yir  work  at  schule  graund, 
and  knew  yir  Bible  frae  end  tae  end. 

"  It  '11  no  be  easy  to  speir  fask]  the  like  o'  you 
questions,  but  ye  mind  Abraham,  Jessie." 

"  Ou,  ay  I  "  and  Jessie  is  all  alert,  although  she  is 
afraid  to  look  up. 

"  What  was  the  name  o*  his  wife,  noo  ?  " 

"  Sarah,  an*  their  son  was  Isaac." 

"  That's  richt,  and  what  aboot  Isaac's  wife  ?  " 

"  Isaac  mairrit  Rebecca,  and  they  hed  twa 
sons,  Jacob  and  Esau,"  and  the  girl  takes  a 
shy  glance  at  the  honest  elder,  and  begins  to  feel 
at  home. 

"  Domsie  wesna  far  wrang,  af  see,  but  it's  no 
possible  ye  cud  tell  us  the  names  o'  Jacob's  sons  ; 
it's  maybe  no  fair  tae  ask  sich  a  teuch  question," 
knowing  all  the  while  that  this  was  a  test  case  of 
Domsie's. 

When  Jessie  reached  Benjamin,  Burnbrae  could 
not  contain  himself. 

"  It's  nae  use  trying  to  stick  Jessie  wi*  the 
Bible,  neebers ;  we 'ill  see  what  she  can  dae  wi* 
the  Carritches  [Catechism].  Yir  no  the  lassie 
that  said  the  questions  frae  beginning  tae  end 
wi'  twa  mistak's,  are  ye  ?  " 

Yes,  she  was,  and  dared  him  to  come  on,  for 
Jessie  had  forgotten  the  minister  and  all  the 
Session. 

"  The  elders  wud  like  tae  hear  '  What  is  the 
Lord's  Supper  ? ' " 


HIS  BITTER  SHAME.  89 

"  That's  it ;  and,  Jessie,  ma  woman,  gie's  the 
'  worthy  receiving.'  " 

Jessie  achieves  another  triumph,  and  is  now 
ready  for  anything. 

"  Ye  hae  the  Word  weel  stored  in  yir  mind, 
lassie,  and  ye  maun  keep  it  in  yir  life,  and  dinna 
forget  that  Christ's  a  gude  Maister." 

"  A '11  dae  ma  best,"  and  Jessie  declared  that 
Burnbrae  had  been  as  kind  as  if  she  had  been 
"his  ain  bairn,"  and  that  she  "  wasna  feared 
ava."  But  her  trial  is  not  over ;  the  worst  is 
to  come. 

Lachlan  began  where  Burnbrae  ended,  and 
very  soon  had  Jessie  on  the  rack. 

"  How  old  will  you  be  ?  " 

"  Auchteen  next  Martinmas." 

"  And  why  will  you  be  coming  to  the  Sacra- 
ment ?  " 

"  Ma  mither  thocht  it  was  time,"  with  a  threat- 
ening of  tears  as  she  looked  at  the  face  in  the 
corner. 

"  Ye  will  maybe  tell  the  Session  what  hass  been 
your  '  lawwork '  and  how  long  ye  haf  been  at 
Sinai." 

"  A*  dinna  ken  what  yir  askin'.  I  was  never 
oot  o'  Drumtochty,"  and  Jessie  breaks  down 
utterly. 

"  A*  dinna  think,  Moderator,  we  ocht  tae  ask 
sic  questions,"  broke  in  Burnbrae,  who  could 
not  see  a  little  one  put  to  confusion ;  "  an*  I 
canna  mind  them  in  the  Gospels.  There's  ae 
commandment  Jessie  keeps  weel,  as  a'  can  tes- 


QO     TRANSFORMATION  OF  LACHLAN  CAMPBELL* 

teefy,  and  that's  the  fifth,  for  there's  no  a  better 
dochter  in  Drumtochty.  A*  move,  Moderator, 
she  get  her  token;  dinna  greet,  puir  woman,  for 
ye've  dune  weel,  and  the  Session's  rael  satisfeed." 

"  It  wass  Dr.  John's  mark  I  wass  trying  the  girl 
by,"  explained  Lachlan  after  Jessie  had  gone  away 
comforted.  "  And  it  iss  a  goot  mark,  oh,  yes !  and 
very  searching. 

"  Ye  will  maybe  not  know  what  it  iss,  Moder- 
ator," and  Lachlan  regarded  the  minister  with 
austere  superiority,  for  it  was  the  winter  of  the 
feud. 

No,  he  did  not,  nor  any  of  the  Session,  being  all 
douce  Scotchmen,  except  Donald  Menzies,  who  was 
at  home  fighting  the  devil. 

"  It  iss  broken  bones,  and  Dr.  John  did  preach 
three  hours  upon  it  at  Auchindarroch  Fast,  and 
there  wass  not  many  went  to  the  Sacrament  on 
that  occasion. 

"  Broken  bones  iss  a  fine  mark  to  begin  with, 
and  the  next  will  be  doubts.  But  there  iss  a 
deeper,"  continued  Lachlan,  warming  to  his  sub- 
ject; "  oh,  yes !  far  deeper,  and  I  heard  of  it  when  I 
wass  North  for  the  sheep,  and  I  will  not  be  forget- 
ting that  day  with  Janet  Macfarlane. 

" 1  knew  she  wass  a  professor,  and  I  wass  look- 
ing for  her  marks.  But  it  wass  not  for  me  to  hef 
been  searching  her ;  it  wass  that  woman  that 
should  hef  been  trying  me." 

A  profound  silence  wrapt  the  Session. 

"  '  Janet,'  I  said,  '  hef  ye  had  many  doubts  ?  ' 

"  '  Doubts,  Lachlan  ?  was  that  what  you  asked  ? 


HIS  BITTER  SHAME.  QI 

I  hef  had  desertions,  and  one  will  be  for  six 
m0nths/ 

"  So  I  saw  she  wass  far  beyond  me,  for  I  dare 
not  be  speaking  about  desertions." 

Two  minutes  after  the  minister  pronounced  the 
benediction,  and  no  one  had  offered  any  remark  in 
the  interval. 

It  seemed  to  the  elders  that  Lachlan  dealt  hardly 
with  young  people  and  those  that  had  gone  astray, 
but  they  learned  one  evening  that  his  justice  had 
at  least  no  partiality.  Burnbrae  said  afterwards 
that  Lachlan  "looked  like  a  ghaist  comin*  in  at 
the  door,"  but  he  sat  in  silence  in  the  shadow,  and 
no  one  marked  the  agony  on  his  face  till  the  end. 

"  If  that  iss  all  the  business,  Moderator,  I  hef  to 
bring  a  case  of  discipline  before  the  Session,  and 
ask  them  to  do  their  duty.  It  iss  known  to  me 
that  a  young  woman  who  hass  been  a  member  of 
this  church  hass  left  her  home  and  gone  into  the 
far  country.  There  will  be  no  use  in  summoning 
her  to  appear  before  the  Session,  for  she  will  never 
be  seen  again  in  this  parish.  I  move  that  she  be 
cut  off  from  the  roll,  and  her  name  iss" — and 
Lachlan's  voice  broke,  but  in  an  instant  he  re- 
covered himself — "  her  name  iss  Flora  Campbell." 

Carmichael  confessed  to  me  that  he  was  stricken 
dumb,  and  that  Lachlan's  ashen  face  held  him 
with  an  awful  fascination. 

It  was  Burnbrae  that  first  found  a  voice,  and 
showed  that  night  the  fine  delicacy  of  heart  that 
may  be  hidden  behind  a  plain  exterior. 

"  Moderator,  this  is  a  terrible  calamity  that  hes 


92     TRANSFORMATION  OF  LACHLAN  CAMPBELL. 

aefaen  oor  brither,  and  a'm  feelin'  as  if  a'  bed  lost 
a  bairn  o'  my  ane,  for  a  sweeter  lassie  didna  cross 
oor  kirk  door.  Nane  o'  us  want  tae  know  what  lies 
happened  or  where  she  hes  gane,  and  no  a  word  o' 
this  wull  cross  oor  lips.  Her  faither's  dune  mair 
than  cud  be  expeckit  o'  mortal  man,  and  noo  we 
have  oor  duty.  It's  no  the  way  o'  this  Session  tae 
cut  aff  ony  member  o'  the  flock  at  a  stroke,  and  we 
'ill  no  begin  with  Flora  Campbell.  A*  move,  Mod- 
erator, that  her  case  be  left  tae  her  faither  and  yer- 
sel',  and  oor  neebur  may  depend  on  it  that  Flora's 
name  and  his  ain  will  be  mentioned  in  oor  prayers, 
ilka  mornin'  an*  nicht,  till  the  gude  Shepherd  o'  the 
sheep  brings  her  hame." 

Burnbrae  paused,  and  then,  with  tears  in  his 
voice — men  do  not  weep  in  Drumtochty — "  With 
the  Lord  there  is  mercy,  and  with  Him  is  plente- 
ous redemption." 

The  minister  took  the  old  man's  arm  and  led 
him  into  the  manse,  and  set  him  in  the  big  chair 
by  the  study  fire.  "  Thank  God,  Lachlan,  we  #re 
friends  now ;  tell  me  about  it  as  if  I  were  your  son 
and  Flora's  brother." 

The  father  took  a  letter  out  of  an  inner  pocket 
with  a  trembling  hand,  and  this  is  what  Carmichael 
read  by  the  light  of  the  lamp  : 

"  DEAR  FATHER:  When  this  reaches  you  I  will 
be  in  London,  and  not  worthy  to  cross  your  door. 
Do  not  be  always  angry  with  me,  and  try  to  forgive 
sne,  for  you  will  not  be  troubled  any  more  by 
tiy  dancing  or  dressing.  Do  not  think  that  I  will 


HIS  BITTER  SHAME.  93 

be  blaming  you,  for  you  have  been  a  good  father 
to  me,  and  said  what  you  would  be  considering 
right,  but  it  is  not  easy  for  a  man  to  understand  a 
girl.  Oh,  if  I  had  had  my  mother,  then  she  would 
have  understood  me,  and  I  would  not  have  crossed 
you.  Forget  poor  Flora's  foolishness,  but  you  will 
not  forget  her,  and  maybe  you  will  still  pray  for 
me.  Take  care  of  the  geraniums  for  my  sake,  and 
give  milk  to  the  lamb  that  you  called  after  me.  I 
will  never  see  you  again,  in  this  world  or  the  next, 
nor  my  mother  .  .  .  [here  the  letter  was  much 
blotted].  When  I  think  that  there  will  be  no  one 
to  look  after  you,  and  have  the  fire  burning  for  you 
on  winter  nights,  I  will  be  rising  to  come  back. 
But  it  is  too  late,  too  late  !  Oh,  the  disgrace  I  will 
be  bringing  on  you  in  the  glen ! 

"  Your  unworthy  daughter, 

"  FLORA  CAMPBELL." 

"  This  is  a  fiery  trial,  Lachlan,  and  I  cannot  even 
imagine  what  you  are  suffering.  But  do  not  de- 
spair, for  that  is  not  the  letter  of  a  bad  girl.  Per- 
haps she  was  impatient,  and  has  been  led  astray. 
But  Flora  is  good  at  heart,  and  you  must  not  think 
she  is  gone  forever." 

Lachlan  groaned,  the  first  moan  he  had  made, 
and  then  he  tottered  to  his  feet. 

"  You  are  fery  kind,  Maister  Carmichael,  and  so 
wass  Burnbrae,  and  I  will  be  thankful  to  you  all, 
but  you  do  not  understand.  Oh,  no  !  you  do  not 
understand."  Lachlin  caught  hold  of  a  chair  and 
looked  the  minister  in  the  face. 


94     TRANSFORMATION  OF  LACHLAN  CAMPBELL. 

"  She  hass  gone,  and  there  will  be  no  coming 
back.  You  would  not  take  her  name  from  the  roll 
of  the  church,  and  I  will  not  be  meddling  with  that 
book.  But  I  hef  blotted  out  her  name  from  my 
Bible,  where  her  mother's  name  iss  written  and 
mine.  She  has  wrought  confusion  in  Israel  and  in 
an  elder's  house,  and  I  ....  I  hef  no  daughter. 
But  I  loved  her ;  she  nefer  knew  how  I  loved  herv 
for  her  mother  would  be  looking  at  me  from  her 
eyes." 

The  minister  walked  with  Lachlan  to  the  foot  of 
the  hill  on  which  his  cottage  stood,  and  after  they 
had  shaken  hands  in  silence,  he  watched  the  old 
man's  figure  in  the  cold  moonlight  till  he  disap- 
peared into  the  forsaken  home,  where  the  fire  had 
gone  out  on  the  hearth,  and  neither  love  nor  hope 
was  waiting  for  a  broken  heart. 

The  railway  did  not  think  it  worth  while  to  come 
to  Drumtochty,  and  we  were  cut  off  from  the 
lowlands  by  miles  of  forest,  so  our  manners  re- 
tained the  fashion  of  the  former  age.  Six  elders, 
besides  the  minister,  knew  the  tragedy  of  Flora 
Campbell,  and  never  opened  their  lips.  Mrs.  Mac- 
Fadyen,  who  was  our  newspaper,  and  understood 
her  duty,  refused  to  pry  into  this  secret.  The  pity 
of  the  glen  went  out  to  Lachlan,  but  no  one  even 
looked  a  question  as  he  sat  alone  in  his  pew  or 
came  down  on  a  Saturday  afternoon  to  the  village 
shop  for  his  week's  provisions.  London  friends 
thought  me  foolish  about  my  adopted  home,  but  I 
asked  them  whether  they  could  find  such  perfect 
good  manners  in  Belgravia,  and  they  were  silent. 


HIS  BITTER  SHAME.  9$ 

My  Drumtochty  neighbours  would  have  played  an 
awkward  part  in  a  drawing-room,  but  never  have  I 
seen  in  all  my  wanderings  men  and  women  of 
truer  courtesy  or  tenderer  heart. 

"  It  gars  ma  hert  greet  tae  see  him,"  Mrs.  Mac- 
Fadyen  said  to  me  one  day,  "  sae  booed  an'  dis- 
jackit,  him  that  wes  that  snod  [tidy]  and  firm. 
His  hair's  turned  white  in  a  month,  and  he's  awa* 
tae  naething  in  his  claithes.  But  least  said  is  sun- 
est  mended.  It's  no  richt  tae  interfere  wi'  an* 
other's  sorrow,  an'  it  wad  be  an  awfu'  sin  tae 
misca'  a  young  lassie.  We  maun  juist  houp  that 
Flora  '11  sune  come  back,  for  if  she  disna  Lachlan 
'11  no  be  lang  wi's.  He's  sayin'  naethin',  and  a* 
respeck  him  for't;  but  onybody  can  see  that  his 
hert  is  breakin'." 

We  were  helpless  till  Marget  Howe  met  Lach- 
lan in  the  shop  and  read  his  sorrow  at  a  glance. 
She  went  home  to  Whinnie  Knowe  in  great  distress. 

"  It  wes  waesome  tae  see  the  auld  mon  githerin* 
his  bit  things  wi'  a  shakin'  hand,  and  speakin'  tae 
me  aboot  the  weather,  and  af  the  time  his  eyes 
were  sayin',  '  Flora,  Flora ! '  " 

"  Whar  div  ye  think  the  young  hizzie  is, 
Marget  ?  " 

"  Naebody  needs  tae  know,  Weelum,  an'  ye 
maunna  speak  that  way,  for  whatever's  come  ower 
her,  she's  dear  to  Lachlan  and  tae  God. 

"  It's  laid  on  me  tae  veesit  Lachlan,  for  a'm 
thinking  'oor  Father  didna  comfort  us  withoot 
expeckin'  that  we  wud  comfort  other  fouk." 

When  Marget  came  round  the  corner  of  Lach- 


96     TRANSFORMATION  OF  LACHLAN  CAMPBELL. 

lan's  cottage,  she  found  Flora's  plants  laid  out 
in  the  sun,  and  her  father  watering  them  on  his 
knees.  One  was  ready  to  die,  and  for  it  he  had 
made  a  shelter  with  his  plaid. 

He  was  taken  unawares,  but  in  a  minute  he  was 
leading  Marget  in  with  hospitable  words. 

"  It  iss  kind  of  you  to  come  to  an  old  man's 
house,  Mistress  Howe,  and  it  iss  a  fery  warm  day. 
You  will  not  care  for  speerits,  but  I  am  fery  goot 
at  making  tea." 

Marget  was  not  as  other  women,  and  she  spoke 
at  once. 

"  Maister  Campbell,  ye  will  believe  that  I  hev 
come  in  the  love  of  God,  and  because  we  hev  baith 
been  afflickit.  I  had  ae  son,  and  he  is  gone ;  ye 
had  a  dochter,  and  she  is  gone.  A'  ken  where 
George  is,  and  am  sateesfied.  A'  doot  sairly  yir 
sorrow  is  deeper  than  mine." 

"  Would  to  God  that  she  wass  lying  in  the  kirk- 
yard  ;  but  I  will  not  speak  of  her.  She  iss  not 
anything  to  me  this  day.  See,  I  will  show  you 
what  I  hef  done,  for  she  hass  been  a  black  shame 
to  her  name." 

He  opened  the  Bible,  and  there  was  Flora's 
name  scored  with  wavering  strokes,  but  the  ink 
had  run  as  if  it  had  been  mingled  with  tears. 

Marget's  heart  burned  within  her  at  the  sight, 
and  perhaps  she  could  hardly  make  allowance  for 
Lachlan's  blood  and  theology. 

"  This  is  what  ye  hev  dune,  and  ye  let  a  woman 
see  yir  wark.  Ye  are  an  auld  man,  and  in  sore 
travail,  but  a*  tell  ye  before  God  ye  hae  the  greater 


HIS  BITTER  SHAME.  97 

shame.  Juist  twenty  years  o'  age  this  spring,  and 
her  mither  dead  !  Nae  woman  to  watch  over  her, 
and  she  wandered  frae  the  fold,  and  a*  ye  can  dae 
is  to  tak  her  oot  o'  yir  Bible.  Wae's  me  if  oor 
Father  had  blotted  out  oor  names  frae  the  Book  o' 
Life  when  we  left  His  hoose.  But  He  sent  His 
ain  Son  to  seek  us,  an*  a  weary  road  He  cam.  A' 
tell  ye,  a  man  wudna  leave  a  sheep  tae  perish  as  ye 
hae  cast  aff  yir  ain  bairn.  Yir  worse  than  Simon 
the  Pharisee,  for  Mary  was  nae  kin  tae  him.  Puir 
Flora,  tae  hae  sic  a  father ! " 

"  Who  will  be  telling  you  that  I  wass  a  Phari- 
see ?  "  cried  Lachlan,  quivering  in  every  limb,  and 
grasping  Marget 's  arm. 

"  Forgie  me,  Lachlan,  forgie  me  !  It  was  the 
thocht  o'  the  misguided  lassie  carried  me,  for  a' 
didna  come  tae  upbraid  ye." 

But  Lachlan  had  sunk  into  a  chair  and  had  for- 
gotten her. 

"  She  hass  the  word,  and  God  will  hef  smitten 
the  pride  of  my  heart,  for  it  iss  Simon  that  I  am. 
I  wass  hard  on  my  child,  and  I  wass  hard  on  the 
minister,  and  there  wass  none  like  me.  The  Lord 
has  laid  my  name  in  the  dust,  and  I  will  be  angry 
with  her.  But  she  iss  the  scapegoat  for  my  sins, 
and  hass  gone  into  the  desert.  God  be  merciful 
to  me  a  sinner  !  "  And  then  Marget  understood 
no  more,  for  the  rest  was  in  Gaelic  ;  but  she  heard 
Flora's  name  with  another  she  took  to  be  her 
mother's  twined  together. 

So  Marget  knew  it  would  be  well  with  Lachlan 
yet,  and  she  wrote  this  letter : 


Q8      TRAN-SFORMA  TION  OF  LACHLAN  CAMPBELL. 

"  MY  DEAR  LASSIE  :  Ye  ken  that  I  wes  aye  yir 
freend,  and  I  am  wrtfng  this  tae  say  that  yir  father 
luves  ye  mair  than  ever,  and  is  wearing  oot  his  hert 
for  the  sicht  o'  yir  face.  Come  back,  or  he'll  dee 
thro*  want  o'  his  bairn.  The  glen  is  bright  and 
bonny  noo,  for  the  purple  heather  is  on  the  hills, 
and  doon  below  the  gowden  corn,  wi'  bluebell 
and  poppy  flowers  between.  Naebody  'ill  ask  ye 
where  ye've  been,  or  onything  else ;  there's  no  a 
bairn  in  the  place  that's  no  wearying  tae  see  ye ; 
and,  Flora,  lassie,  if  there  will  be  sic  gledness  in 
oor  wee  glen  when  ye  come  hame,  what  think  ye 
o'  the  joy  in  the  Father's  Hoose  ?  Start  the 
verra  meenute  that  ye  get  this  letter;  yir  father 
bids  ye  come,  and  I'm  writing  this  in  place  o'  yir 
mother. 

"  MARGET  HOWE." 

Marget  went  out  to  tend  the  flowers  while  Lach- 
lan  read  the  letter,  and  when  he  gave  it  back  the 
address  was  written  in  his  own  hand. 

He  went  as  far  as  the  crest  of  the  hill  with  Mar- 
get,  and  watched  her  on  the  way  to  the  post- 
office  till  she  was  only  a  speck  upon  the  road. 

When  he  entered  his  cottage  the  shadows  were 
beginning  to  fall,  and  he  remembered  it  would 
soon  be  night. 

"  It  iss  in  the  dark  that  Flora  will  be  coming, 
and  she  must  know  that  her  father  iss  waiting 
for  her." 

He  cleaned  and  trimmed  with  anxious  hand  a 
that  was  kept  for  show,  and  had  never  been 


HIS  BITTER  SHAME.  99 

used.  Then  he  selected  from  his  books  Edwards' 
"  Sinners  in  the  Hands  of  an  Angry  God,"  and 
"  Coles  on  the  Divine  Sovereignty,"  and  on  them 
he  laid  the  large  family  Bible  out  of  which  Flora's 
name  had  been  blotted.  This  was  the  stand  on 
which  he  set  the  lamp  in  the  window,  and  every 
night  till  Flora  returned  its  light  shone  down  the 
steep  path  that  ascended  to  her  home,  like  the 
Divine  Love  from  the  open  door  of  our  Father's 
House. 


III. 

LIKE  AS  A   FATHER. 

IT  was  only  by  physical  force  and  a  free  use  of 
personalities  that  the  Kildrummie  passengers  could 
be  entrained  at  the  Junction,  and  the  Drumtochty 
men  were  always  the  last  to  capitulate. 

They  watched  the  main-line  train  that  had 
brought  them  from  Muirtown  disappear  in  the 
distance,  and  then  broke  into  groups  to  discuss 
the  cattle  sale  at  leisure,  while  Peter,  the  factotum 
of  the  little  Kildrummie  branch,  drove  his  way 
through  their  midst  with  offensive  pieces  of  lug- 
gage, and  abused  them  by  name  without  respect 
of  persons. 

"  It's  maist  aggravatin',  Drumsheugh,  'at  ye'il* 
stand  there  girnin'  at  the  prices,  as  if  ye  were  a 
puir  cottar  body  that  hed  selt  her  ae  coo,  and  us 
twal  meenutes  late.  Man,  get  intae  yer  kerridge  ; 
he'ill  no  be  fat  that  buys  frae  you,  a'll  wager." 

"  Peter's  in  an  awfu'  feery-farry  [excitement] 
the  nicht,  neeburs,"  Drumsheugh  would  respond, 
after  a  long  pause ;  "  ye  vvud  think  he  wes  a  mail 
gaird  tae  hear  him  speak.  Mind  ye,  a'm  no  gain' 
tae  shove  ahint  if  the  engine  sticks,  for  I  hae  na 
time.  He  needs  a  bit  nip,"  and  Drumsheugh 


LIKE  AS  A 

settles  himself  in  his  seat,  "  or  else  there  would  be 
nae  leevin'  wi'  him." 

Peter  escaped  this  winged  shaft,  for  he  had  de- 
tected a  woman  in  the  remote  darkness. 

"  Keep's  a',  wumman,  what  are  ye  stravagin* 
about  there  for  out  o'  a'body's  sicht  ?  a*  near  set 
aff  withoot  ye." 

Then  Peter  recognised  her  face,  and  his  manner 
softened  of  a  sudden. 

"Come  awa',  lassie,  come  awa' ;  a*  didna  ken 
ye  at  the  moment,  but  a*  heard  ye  hed  been 
veesitin'  in  the  sooth. 

"  The  third  is  terrible  full  wi'  thae  Drumtochty 
lads,  and  ye'ill  hear  naething  but  Drumsheugh's 
stirks ;  ye'ill  maybe  be  as  handy  in  oor  second." 
And  Flora  Campbell  stepped  in  unseen. 

Between  the  Junction  and  Kildrummie  Peter 
was  accustomed  to  wander  along  the  footboard, 
collecting  tickets  and  identifying  passengers.  He 
was  generally  in  fine  trim  on  the  way  up,  and  took 
ample  revenge  for  the  insults  of  the  departure. 
But  it  was  supposed  that  Peter  had  taken  Drum- 
sheugh's withering  sarcasm  to  heart,  for  he  at- 
tached himself  to  the  second  that  night,  and  was 
invisible  to  the  expectant  third  till  the  last 
moment. 

"Ye've  hed  a  lang  journey,  Miss  Cammil,  and 
ye  maun  be  nearly  dune  wi'  tire ;  juist  ye  sit  still 
till  the  fouk  get  awa',  and  the  guid  wife  and  me 
would  be  prood  if  ye  took  a  cup  o'  tea  wi's  afore 
ye  stairted  hame.  A'll  come  for  ye  as  sune  as  a* 
get  the  van  emptied  and  ma  little  trokes  feenished." 


IOJ4   TRANSFORMATION  OF  LACHLAN  CAMPBELL. 

Peter  hurried  up  to  his  cottage  in  such  hot  haste 
that  his  wife  came  out  in  great  alarm. 

"  Na,  there's  naethin'  wrang;  it's  the  opposite 
way  this  nicht.  Ye  mind  o'  Flora  Cammil  that 
left  her  father,  and  nane  o'  the  Drumtochty  fouk 
wud  say  onything  aboot  her.  Weel,  she's  in  the 
train,  and  a've  asked  her  up  tae  rest,  and  she  was 
gled  tae  come,  puir  thing.  Sae  gie  her  a  couthy 
welcome,  wumman,  and  the  best  in  the  hoose,  for 
oors  'ill  be  the  first  roof  she'ill  be  under  on  her 
way  hame." 

Our  women  do  not  kiss  one  another  like  the  city 
ladies;  but  the  motherly  grip  of  Mary  Bruce's 
hand  sent  a  thrill  to  Flora's  heart. 

"  Noo  a'  caf  this  real  kind  o'  ye,  Miss  Cammil, 
tae  come  in  without  ceremony,  and  a'd  be  terrible 
pleased  if  ye  would  dae  it  ony  time  yer  traivellin'. 
The  rail  is  by  ordinar'  fateegin,'  and  a  cup  o'  tea 
'ill  set  ye  up,"  and  Mary  had  Flora  in  the  best 
chair,  and  was  loading  her  plate  with  homely 
dainties. 

Peter  would  speak  of  nothing  but  the  new  engine 
that  was  coming,  and  was  to  place  the  Kildrummie 
branch  beyond  ridicule  forever,  and  on  this  great 
event  he  continued  without  intermission  till  he 
parted  with  Flora  on  the  edge  of  the  pine  woods 
that  divided  Drumtochty  from  Kildrummie. 

"  Gude  nicht  tae  ye,  Miss  Cammil,  and  thank  ye 
again  for  yir  veesit.  Bring  the  auld  man  wi'  ye 
next  time  ye're  passin',  though  a'm  feared  ye've 
been  deived  [deafened]  wi'  the  engine." 

Flora  took  Peter's  hand,  that  was  callous  and 


LIKE  AS  A   FATHER.  103 

rough  with  the  turning  of  brakes  and  the  coupling 
of  chains. 

"  It  wass  not  your  new  engine  you  wass  thinking 
about  this  night,  Peter  Bruce,  but  a  poor  girl  that 
iss  in  trouble.  I  hef  not  the  words,  but  I  will  be 
remembering  your  house ;  oh,  yes  I  as  long  as  I 
live/' 

Twice  Peter  stood  on  his  way  home ;  the  first 
time  he  slapped  his  leg  and  chuckled : 

"  Sail,  it  was  gey  clever  o'  me ;  a  hale  kerridge 
o'  Drumtochty  lads,  and  no  ane  o'  them  ever  hed 
a  glint  o'  her." 

At  the  second  stoppage  he  drew  his  hand  across 
his  eyes. 

"  Puir  lassie,  a*  houp  her  father  'ill  be  kind  tae 
her,  for  she's  sair  broken,  and  looks  liker  deith  than 
life/' 

No  one  can  desire  a  sweeter  walk  than  through  a 
Scottish  pine  wood  in  late  September,  where  you 
breathe  the  healing  resinous  air,  and  the  ground  is 
crisp  and  springy  beneath  your  feet,  and  gentle  ani- 
mals dart  away  on  every  side,  and  here  and  there  you 
come  on  an  open  space  with  a  pool  and  a  brake  of 
gorse.  Many  a  time  on  market  days  Flora  had  gone 
singing  through  these  woods,  plucking  a  posy  of 
wild  flowers  and  finding  a  mirror  in  every  pool,  as 
young  girls  will :  but  now  she  trembled  and  was 
afraid.  The  rustling  of  the  trees  in  the  darkness, 
the  hooting  of  an  owl,  the  awful  purity  of  the 
moonlight  in  the  glades,  the  cold  sheen  of  the 
water,  were  to  her  troubled  conscience  omens  of 
judgment.  Had  it  not  been  for  the  kindness  of 


104  TRANSFORMATION  OF  LACHLAN  CAMPBELL. 

Peter  Bruce,  which  was  a  pledge  of  human  for- 
giveness, there  would  have  been  no  heart  in  her  to 
dare  that  wood,  and  it  was  with  a  sob  of  relief  she 
escaped  from  the  shadow  and  looked  upon  the  old 
glen  once  more,  bathed  from  end  to  end  in  the 
light  of  the  harvest  moon.  Beneath  her  ran  our 
little  river,  spanned  by  its  quaint  old  bridge ;  away 
on  the  right  the  Parish  Kirk  peeped  out  from  a 
clump  of  trees ;  halfway  up  the  glen  the  clachan 
lay  surrounded  by  patches  01  corn;  and  beyond 
were  the  moors,  with  a  shepherd's  cottage  that 
held  her  heart.  Two  hours  ago  squares  of  light 
told  of  warmth  and  welcome  within ;  but  now,  as 
Flora  passed  one  house  after  another,  it  seemed  as 
if  everyone  she  knew  was  dead,  and  she  was  for- 
gotten in  her  misery.  Her  heart  grew  cold,  and 
she  longed  to  lie  down  and  die,  when  she  caught 
the  gleam  of  a  lighted  window.  Someone  was 
living  still  to  know  she  had  repented,  and  she 
knelt  down  among  the  flowers  with  her  ear  to  the 
glass  to  hear  the  sound  of  a  human  voice.  Archie 
Moncur  had  come  home  late  from  a  far-away  job, 
but  he  must  needs  have  worship  with  his  sister 
before  they  went  to  bed,  and  well  did  he  choose 
the  psalm  that  night.  Flora's  tears  rained  upon 
the  mignonette  as  the  two  old  people  sang  : 

"  When  Sion's  bondage  God  turned  back, 

As  men  that  dreamed  were  we, 
Then  filled  with  laughter  was  our  mouth, 
Our  tongue  with  melody  ;  " 

while  the  fragrance  of  the  flowers  went  up  as 
incense  unto  God. 


LIKE  AS  A   FATHER.  105 

All  the  way  along  the  glen  the  last  words  of  the 
psalm  still  rang  in  her  ears,  "  Rejoicing  shall 
return,"  but  as  she  touched  the  footpath  to  her 
home,  courage  failed  her.  Marget  had  written 
for  her  dead  mother,  but  no  one  could  speak  with 
authority  for  her  father.  She  knew  the  pride  of 
his  religion  and  his  iron  principles.  If  he  refused 
her  entrance,  then  it  had  been  better  for  her 
to  have  died  in  London.  A  turn  of  the  path 
brought  her  within  sight  of  the  cottage,  and  her 
heart  came  into  her  mouth,  for  the  kitchen  window 
was  a  blaze  of  light.  One  moment  she  feared 
Lachlan  might  be  ill,  but  in  the  next  she  understood, 
and  in  the  greatness  of  her  joy  she  ran  the  rest  of 
the  way.  When  she  reached  the  door,  her  strength 
had  departed,  and  she  was  not  able  to  knock.  But 
there  was  no  need,  for  the  clogs,  who  never  forget 
nor  cast  off,  were  bidding  her  welcome  with  short 
joyous  yelps  of  delight,  and  she  could  hear  her  father 
feeling  for  the  latch,  which  for  once  could  not  be 
found,  and  saying  nothing  but  "  Flora,  Flora J" 

She  had  made  up  some  kind  of  speech,  but  the 
only  word  she  ever  said  was  "  Father,"  for  Lachlan, 
who  had  never  even  kissed  her  all  the  days  of  her 
youth,  clasped  her  in  his  arms  and  sobbed  out 
blessings  over  her  head,  while  the  dogs  licked  her 
hands  with  their  soft,  kindly  tongues. 

"  It  iss  a  pity  you  hef  not  the  Gaelic,"  Flora  said 
to  Marget  afterwards ;  "  it  iss  the  best  of  all 
languages  for  loving.  There  are  fifty  words  for 
darling,  and  my  father  would  be  calling  me  every 
one  that  night  I  came  home." 


106  TRANSFORMATION  OF  LACHLAN  CAMPBELL. 

Lachlan  was  so  carried  with  joy,  and  firelight  is 
so  hopeful,  that  he  had  not  seen  the  signs  of  sore 
sickness  on  Flora's  face,  but  the  morning  light  un- 
deceived him,  and  he  was  sadly  dashed. 

"  You  will  be  fery  tired  after  your  long  journey, 
Flora,  and  it  iss  good  for  you  to  rest.  There  iss  a 
man  in  the  clachan  I  am  wanting  to  see,  and  he 
will  maybe  be  comin'  back  with  me." 

When  Lachlan  reached  his  place  of  prayer,  he 
lay  on  the  ground  and  cried,  "  Have  mercy  on  me, 
O  Lord,  and  spare  her  for  thy  servant's  sake,  and 
let  me  not  lose  her  after  Thou  hast  brought  her 
back  and  hast  opened  my  heart.  .  .  Take  her  not 
till  she  hass  seen  that  I  love  her.  .  .  Give  me 
time  to  do  her  kindness  for  the  past  wherein  I 
oppressed  her.  .  .  O,  turn  away  Thy  judgment 
on  my  hardness,  and  let  not  the  child  suffer  for  her 
father's  sins."  Then  he  arose  and  hastened  for 
the  doctor. 

It  was  afternoon  before  Dr.  MacLure  could 
come,  but  the  very  sight  of  his  face,  which  was 
as  the  sun  in  its  strength,  let  light  into  the  room 
where  Lachlan  sat  at  the  bedside  holding  Flora's 
hand,  and  making  woeful  pretense  that  she  was 
not  ill. 

"Weel,  Flora,  yeVe  got  back  frae  yir  veesits, 
and  a'  tell  ye  we've  missed  ye  maist  terrible. 
A*  doot  thae  sooth  country  fouk  haena  been 
feeding  ye  ower  weel,  or  maybe  it  was  the  toon 
air.  It  never  agrees  wi'  me.  A'm  half  chokit  a* 
the  time  a'm  in  Glesgie,  and  as  for  London,  there's 
ower  mony  fouk  tae  the  square  yaird  for  health." 


LIKE  AS  A  FATHER.  toy 

All  the  time  he  was  busy  at  his  work,  and  no 
man  could  do  it  better  or  quicker,  although  the 
outside  of  him  was  not  encouraging. 

"  Lachlan,  what  are  ye  traivellin'  in  and  oot 
there  for  with  a  face  that  wud  sour  milk  ?  What 
ails  ye,  man?  ye're  surely  no  imaginin'  Flora's 
gaein'  to  leave  ye  ? 

"  Lord's  sake,  it's  maist  provokin'  that  if 
a  body  hes  a  bit  whup  o'  illness  in  Drum- 
tochty,  their  friends  tak  tae  propheseein'  deith." 

Lachlan  had  crept  over  to  Flora's  side,  and 
both  were  waiting. 

"  Na,  na ;  ye  ken  a*  never  tell  lees  like  the 
graund  ceety  doctors,  and  a'll  warrant  Flora  'ill 
be  in  kirk  afore  Martinmas,  and  kiltin'  up  the 
braes  as  hardy  as  a  hielan'  sheltie  by  the  new 
year." 

Flora  puts  an  arm  round  her  father's  neck, 
and  draws  down  his  face  to  hers,  but  the  doctor 
is  looking  another  way. 

"  Dinna  fash  wi'  medicine ;  gie  her  plenty  o* 
fresh  milk  and  plenty  o'  air.  There's  nae  leevin, 
for  a  doctor  wi'  that  Drumtochty  air;  it  hasna 
a  marra  in  Scotland.  It  starts  frae  the  Moray 
Firth  and  sweeps  doon  Badenoch,  and  comes 
ower  the  moor  o'  Rannoch  and  across  the  Gram- 
pians. There's  the  salt  o'  the  sea,  and  the  caller 
air  o'  the  hills,  and  the  smell  o'  the  heather,  and 
the  bloom  o'  mony  a  flower  in't.  If  there's  nae 
disease  in  the  organs  o'  the  body,  a  puff  o'  Drum- 
tochty air  wud  bring  back  a  man  frae  the  gates 
o'  deith." 


IDS  TRANSFORMATION  OF  LACHLAN  CAMPBELL. 

"  You  hef  made  two  hearts  glad  this  day,  Dr. 
MacLure,"  said  Lachlan,  outside  the  door,  "and 
I  am  calling  you  Barnabas." 

"Ye've  ca'd  me  waur  names  than  that  in  yir 
time,"  and  the  doctor  mounted  his  horse.  "  It's 
dune  me  a  warld  o'  guid  tae  see  Flora  in  her  hame 
again,  and  I'll  gie  Marget  Howe  a  cry  in  passin' 
and  send  her  up  tae  hae  a  crack,  for  there's  no  a 
wiser  wumman  in  the  glen." 

When  Marget  came,  Flora  told  her  the  history 
of  her  letter. 

"  It  wass  a  beautiful  night  in  London,  but  I  will 
be  thinking  that  there  iss  no  living  person  caring 
whether  I  die  or  live,  and  I  wass  considering  how 
I  could  die,  for  there  iss  nothing  so  hopeless  as  to 
hef  no  friend  in  a  great  city.  It  iss  often  that  I  hef 
been  alone  on  the  moor,  and  no  man  within  miles, 
but  I  wass  never  lonely;  oh,  no!  I  had  plenty 
of  good  company.  I  would  sit  down  beside  a 
burn,  and  the  trout  will  swim  out  from  below  a 
stone,  and  the  cattle  will  come  to  drink,  and  the 
fnuirfowl  will  be  crying  to  each  other,  and  the 
sheep  will  be  bleating,  oh,  yes !  and  there  are  the 
bees  all  round,  and  a  string  of  wild  ducks  above 
your  head.  It  iss  a  busy  place,  a  moor;  and  a  safe 
place  too,  for  there  iss  not  one  of  the  animals  will 
hurt  you.  No,  the  big  highlanders  will  only  look 
at  you  and  go  away  to  their  pasture.  But  it  iss 
weary  to  be  in  London  and  no  one  to  speak  a  kind 
word  to  you,  and  I  will  be  looking  at  the  crowd 
that  iss  always  passing,  and  I  will  not  see  one 
kent  face,  and  when  I  looked  in  at  the  lighted 


LIKE  AS  A   FATHER.  109 

windows  the  people  were  all  sitting  round  the 
table,  but  there  wass  no  place  for  me.  Millions 
and  millions  of  people,  and  not  one  to  say  *  Flora/ 
and  not  one  sore  heart  if  I  died  that  night.  Then 
a  strange  thing  happened,  as  you  will  be  consider- 
ing, but  it  iss  good  to  be  a  Highlander,  for  we  see 
visions.  You  maybe  know  that  a  wounded  deer 
will  try  to  hide  herself,  and  I  crept  into  the  shadow 
of  a  church,  and  wept.  Then  the  people  and  the 
noise  and  the  houses  passed  away  like  the  mist  on 
the  hill,  and  I  wass  walking  to  the  kirk  with  my 
father,  oh,  yes !  and  I  saw  you  all  in  your  places, 
and  I  heard  the  Psalms,  and  I  could  see  through 
the  window  the  green  fields  and  the  trees  on  the 
edge  of  the  moor.  And  I  saw  my  home,  with  the 
dogs  before  the  door,  and  the  flowers  that  I 
planted,  and  the  lamb  coming  for  her  milk,  and 
I  heard  myself  singing,  and  I  awoke.  But  there 
wass  singing,  oh,  yes !  and  beautiful  too,  for  the 
dark  church  was  open,  and  the  light  wass  falling 
over  my  head  from  the  face  of  the  Virgin  Mary. 
When  I  arose  she  wass  looking  down  at  me  in  the 
darkness,  and  then  I  knew  that  there  wass  service 
in  the  church,  and  this  wass  the  hymn  : 

'*  *  There  is  a  fountain  filled  with  blood.' 

So  I  went  in  and  sat  down  at  the  door.  The 
sermon  wass  on  the  Prodigal  Son,  but  there  iss 
only  one  word  I  remember.  'You  are  not  for- 
gotten or  cast  off,'  the  preacher  said  ;  '  you  are 
missed,'  and  then  he  will  come  back  to  it  again, 
and  it  wass  always  '  missed,  missed,  missed/ 


HO  TRANSFORMATION  OF  LACHLAN  CAMPBELL. 

Sometime  he  will  say,  '  If  you  had  a  plant,  and 
you  had  taken  great  care  of  it,  and  it  was  stolen, 
would  you  not  miss  it?  And  I  will  be  thinking 
of  my  geraniums,  and  saying  '  yes '  in  my  heart. 
And  then  he  will  go  on, '  If  a  shepherd  was  count- 
ing his  sheep,  and  there  wass  one  short,  does  he  not 
go  out  to  the  hill  and  seek  for  it  ? '  and  I  will  see 
my  father  coming  back  with  that  lamb  that  lost 
its  mother.  My  heart  wass  melting  within  me,  but 
he  will  still  be  pleading, '  If  a  father  had  a  child, 
and  she  left  her  home  and  lost  herself  in  the 
wicked  city,  she  will  still  be  remembered  in  the 
old  house,  and  her  chair  will  be  there/  and  I  will 
be  seeing  my  father  all  ^.lone  with  the  Bible  before 
him,  and  the  dogs  will  lay  their  heads  on  his  knee, 
but  there  iss  no  Flora.  So  I  slipped  out  into  the 
darkness  and  cried  '  Father !'  but  I  could  not  go 
back,  and  I  knew  not  what  to  do.  But  this  wass 
^ver  in  my  ear,  '  missed/  and  I  wass  wondering 
if  God  will  be  thinking  of  me.  '  Perhaps  there  may 
be  a  sign/  I  said,  and  I  went  to  my  room,  and  I 
saw  the  letter.  It  was  not  long  before  I  will  be 
in  the  train,  and  all  the  night  I  held  your  letter 
in  my  hand,  and  when  I  wass  afraid  I  will  read 
'  Your  father  loves  you  more  than  efer/  and  I  will 
say, '  This  is  my  warrant/  Oh,  yes !  and  God  wass 
fery  good  to  me,  and  I  did  not  want  for  friends 
all  the  way  home. 

"The  English  guard  noticed  me  cry,  and  he 
will  take  care  of  me  all  th«  night,  and  see  me  off 
at  Muirtown,  and  this  iss  what  he  will  say  as  the 
train  wass  leaving,  in  his  cheery  English  way, 


LIKE  AS  A   FATHER.  Ill 

'  Keep  up  your  heart,  lass,  there's  a  good  time 
coming,'  and  Peter  Bruce  will  be  waiting  for  me 
at  the  Junction,  and  a  gentle  man  iss  Peter  Bruce, 
and  Maister  Moncur  will  be  singing  a  psalm  to 
keep  up  my  heart,  and  I  Vv  ill  see  the  light,  and  then 
I  will  know  that  the  Lord  hass  had  mercy  upon 
me.  That  iss  all  I  have  to  tell  you,  Marget,  for 
the  rest  I  will  be  saying  to  God." 

"  But  there  iss  something  I  must  be  telling,"  said 
Lachlan,  coming  in,  "  and  it  iss  not  easy/' 

He  brought  over  the  Bible  and  opened  it  at  the 
family  register  where  his  daughter's  name  had 
been  erased ;  then  he  laid  it  down  before  Flora, 
and  bowed  his  head  on  the  bed. 

"  Will  you  ever  be  able  to  forgive  your  father  ?  " 

"  Give  me  the  pen,  Marge';  anc  ^Icra  wrote 
for  a  minute,  but  Lachlan  never  moved, 

When  he  lifted  his  head,  this  was  what  he  read 
in  a  vacant  space : 

FLORA  CAMPBELL. 

Missed,  April,  1873. 

Found,  September,  1873. 

**  Her  father  fell  on  her  neck  and  kissed  her.** 


IV. 

AS  A  LITTLE  CHILD. 

DRUMTOCHTY  made  up  its  mind  slowly  upon 
any  newcomer,  and  for  some  time  looked  into  the 
far  distance  when  his  name  was  mentioned.  He 
himself  was  struck  with  the  studied  indifference 
of  the  parish,  and  lived  under  the  delusion  that  he 
had  escaped  notice.  Perhaps  he  might  have  felt 
uncomfortable  if  he  had  suspected  that  he  was 
under  a  microscope,  and  the  keenest  eyes  in  the 
country  were  watching  every  movement  at  kirk  and 
market.  His  knowledge  of  theology,  his  preference 
in  artificial  manures,  his  wife's  Sabbath  dress,  his 
skill  in  cattle,  and  his  manner  in  the  Kildrummie 
train,  went  as  evidence  in  the  case,  and  were  duly 
weighed.  Some  morning  the  floating  opinion  sud- 
denly crystallized  in  the  kirkyard,  and  there  is  only 
one  historical  instance  in  which  judgment  was 
reversed.  It  was  a  strong  proof  of  Lachlan 
Campbell's  individuality  that  he  impressed  him- 
self twice  on  the  parish,  and  each  time  with  a 
marked  adjective. 

Lachlan  had  been  superintending  the  theology 
of  the  glen  and  correcting  our  ignorance  from  an 
unapproachable  height  for  two  years  before  the 
word  went  forth,  but  the  glen  had  been  thinking. 

"  Lachlan  is  a  carefu'  shepherd  and  fine  wi*  the 
ewes  at  the  lambing  time,  there's  nae  doot  o'  that, 


AS  A   LITTLE  CHILD.  113 

but  a*  canna  thole  [bear]  himsel'.  Ye  wud  think 
there  was  nae  releegion  in  the  pairish  till  he  cam* 
frae  Auchindarroch.  What  say  ye,  Domsie  ?  " 

"  Campbell's  a  censorious  body,  Drumsheugh," 
and  Domsie  shut  his  snuff-box  lid  with  a  snap. 

Drumsheugh  nodded  to  the  fathers  of  our  com- 
monwealth, and  they  went  into  kirk  with  silent 
satisfaction.  Lachlan  had  been  classified,  and 
Peter  Bruce,  who  prided  himself  on  keeping  in 
touch  with  Drumtochty,  passed  the  word  round 
the  Kildrummie  train  next  market  night. 

"  Ye  haena  that  censorious  body,  Lachlan 
Campbell,  wi*  ye  the  nicht,"  thrusting  his  head  in 
on  the  thirds. 

"There's  naething  Peter  disna  ken,"  Hillocks 
remarked  with  admiration  afterwards ;  "  he's  as 
gude  as  the  Advertiser" 

,  When  Flora  had  come  home,  and  Drumtochty 
resumed  freedom  of  criticism,  I  noticed  for  the 
first  time  a  certain  vacillation  in  its  treatment  of 
Lachlan. 

"  He's  pluckit  up  his  speerit  maist  extraordinar," 
Hillocks  explained,  "  and  he  whuppit  by  me  like  a 
three-year-auld  laist  Sabbath. 

" '  I'm  gled  tae  hear  the  Miss  is  comin*  roond 
fine/  says  I, 

" '  It's  the  fouk  o*  Drumtochty  hes  made  her 
weel.  God  bless  you,  for  you  hev  done  good  for 
evil,'  and  wi'  that  he  was  aff  afore  I  cud  fin'  a 
word. 

"  He's  changed,  the  body,  some  wy  or  ither,  and 
there's  a  kird  o*  warmth  aboot  him  ye  canna  get 
ower. " 

Next  day  I  turned  into  Mrs.  Macfadyen's  cottage 


114  TRANSFORMATION  OF  LACHLAN  CAMPBELL. 

for  a  cup  of  tea,  and  the  smack  of  that  wise 
woman's  conversation,  but  was  not  able  to  pass  the 
inner  door  for  the  sight  which  met  my  eyes. 

Lachlan  was  sitting  on  a  chair  in  the  middle  of 
the  kitchen  with  Elsie,  Mrs.  Macfadyen's  pet  child, 
on  his  knee,  and  their  heads  so  close  together  that 
his  white  hair  was  mingling  with  her  burnished 
gold.  An  odour  of  peppermint  floated  out  at  the 
door,  and  Elsie  was  explaining  to  Lachlan,  for  his 
guidance  at  the  shop,  that  the  round  drops  were  a 
better  bargain  than  the  black  and  white  rock. 

When  Lachlan  had  departed,  with  gracious 
words  on  his  lips  and  a  very  sticky  imprint  on  his 
right  cheek,  I  settled  down  in  the  big  chair,  beyond 
the  power  of  speech,  and  Mrs.  Macfadyen  opened 
the  mystery. 

"  Ye  may  weel  look,  for  twa  month  syne  I  wudna 
hae  believed  this  day,  though  a'  hed  seen  him  wi' 
ma  ain  een. 

"  It  was  juist  this  time  laist  year  that  he  cam* 
here  on  his  elder's  veesitation,  and  he  catches  the 
bairn  in  this  verra  kitchen. 

"  •  Elspeth,'  says  he — it  was  Elsie  the  day,  ye 
mind — '  div  ye  ken  that  ye're  an  oreeginal  sinner?' 

"  It  was  nichtfa*  afore  she  got  ower  the  fricht, 
and  when  she  saw  him  on  the  road  next  Sabbath, 
she  cooried  in  ahint  ma  goon,  and  cried  till  I 
thocht  her  hert  wud  break. 

"  '  It's  meeserable  wark  for  Christ's  Elder,'  says 
Jeems,  '  tae  put  the  fear  o*  death  on  a  bairn,  and 
a'm  thinkin'  he  wudna  get  muckle  thanks  frae  his 
Maister,  if  He  wes  here,'  and  Jeems  wasna  far 
wrong,  though,  of  course,  a'  told  him  tae  keep  a 
quiet  sough,  and  no  center  the  elder. 


AS  A   LITTLE  CHILD.  115 

"  Weel,  I  sees  Lachlan  comin'  up  the  road  the 
day,  and  a*  ran  oot  to  catch  Elsie  and  hide  her  in 
the  byre.  But  a*  micht  hae  saved  mysel'  the 
trouble  :  afore  I  got  tae  the  gairden  gate  they  were 
comin'  up  as  chief  [friendly]  as  ye  like,  and  Lach- 
lan wes  callin'  Elsie  his  bonnie  dawtie. 

"  If  he  hadna  a  pock  o*  peppermints — but  it 
wasna  that  wiled  Elsie's  hert.  Na,  na ;  dogs  and 
bairns  can  read  fouks*  faces,  and  mak  nae  mis- 
takes. As  sune  as  a*  saw  Lachlan's  een  a*  kent  he 
wes  a  new  man. 

"  Hoo  has  it  come  about  ?  That's  easy  tae 
guess.  Sax  months  syne  Lachlan  didna  ken  what 
father  meant,  and  the  hert  wes  wizened  in  the 
breist  o'  him  wi'  pride  anf  diveenity. 

"  He  kens  noo,  and  a'm  jalousing  that  nae  man 
can  be  a  richt  father  tae  his  ain  without  being  sib 
[akin]  tae  every  bairn  he  sees.  It  was  Flora  he 
wes  dawting  [petting]  ye  see  the  day,  and  he's 
learned  his  trade  weel,  though  it  cost  him  a  sair 
lesson." 

Wonderful  stories  circulated  through  the  glen, 
and  were  told  in  the  kirkyard  of  a  Sabbath  morn- 
ing, concerning  the  transformation  of  Lachlan 
Campbell. 

"Ane  o'  ma  wee  lassies,"  expatiated  Domsie, 
"  fell  comin'  doon  the  near  road  frae  Whinnie 
Knowe,  and  cuttit  her  cheek  on  the  stones,  and 
if  Lachlan  didna  wash  her  face  and  comfort  her ; 
an'  mair,  he  carried  her  a'  the  road  tae  the  schule, 
and  says  he  in  his  Hieland  way, '  Here  iss  a  brave 
little  woman  that  hass  hurt  herself,  but  she  will 
not  be  crying,'  and  he  gave  her  a  kiss  and  a  penny 
tae  buy  some  sweeties  at  the  shop.  It  minded  me 


Il6  TRANSFORMATION  OF  LACHLAN  CAMPBELL. 

o'  the  Gude  Samaritan,  fouks,"  and  everybody 
understood  that  Lachlan  had  captured  Domsie 
for  life. 

"  It  beats  a'  things,"  said  Whinnie ;  "  a'  canna 
mak'  oot  what's  come  ower  the  cratur.  There's 
a  puckle  o'  the  upland  bairns  pass  oor  wy  frae 
schule,  and  whiles  Lachlan  'ill  meet  them  when 
he's  aifter  his  sheep,  and  as  sure  as  a'm  stannin' 
here,  he  '11  lay  aff  stories  aboot  battles  and  fairies, 
till  the  laddies  '11  hardly  gae  hame.  I  wes  tellin' 
Marget  this  verra  mornin',  and  she  says,  *  Lachlan's 
become  as  a  little  child.'  I  dinna  haud  wi'  her 
there,  but  a  quieter,  mair  cautious  body  ye  never 
saw." 

Drumtochty  was  doing  its  best  to  focus  Lachlan 
afresh,  and  felt  the  responsibility  lay  on  Domsie, 
who  accepted  it  cheerfully. 

"  Marget's  aye  richt,  neeburs,  and  she's  put  the 
word  on  it  noo.  His  tribble  hes  melted  Lachlan's 
hert,  an' — it's  in  the  Evangel,  ye  ken — he's  be- 
come as  a  little  child." 

This  language  was  too  figurative  and  imposing 
for  the  parish,  but  it  ran  henceforward  in  our 
modest  speech, "  He's  a  cautious  body."  Cautious, 
with  us,  meant  unassuming,  kindly,  obliging,  as 
well  as  much  more ;  and  I  still  hear  Drumsheugh 
pronouncing  this  final  judgment  of  the  glen  on 
Lachlan  as  we  parted  at  his  grave  ten  years  later, 
and  adding,  "  He'ill  be  sair  missed  by  the  bairns." 

While  the  glen  was  readjusting  itself  to  Lach- 
lan, I  came  down  from  a  long  tramp  on  the  moor, 
and  intended  to  inquire  for  Flora.  But  I  was  ar- 
rested on  the  step  by  the  sound  of  Lachlan's  voice 
in  family  worship. 


AS  A   LITTLE  CHILD.  117 

"  '  This  my  son  was  dead,  and  is  alive  again  ;  he 
was  lost,  and  is  found.  And  they  began  to  be 
merry/  " 

Lachlan's  voice  trembled  as  he  read,  but  he  went 
on  with  much  firmness : 

"  *  Now  his  elder  son  was  in  the  field,'  " 

"  You  will  not  be  reading  more  of  that  chapter, 
father,"  interrupted  Flora,  with  a  new  note  of 
authority. 

"  And  why  not  ?  "  said  Lachlan,  quite  humbly. 

"  Because  you  will  be  calling  yourself  the  elder 
son  and  many  more  bad  names,  and  I  will  be 
angry  with  you." 

"  But  they  are  true  names,  and  it  iss  good  for  me 
to  know  myself." 

"  You  hef  just  one  true  name,  and  that  is  father, 
.  .  .  And  now  you  will  be  singing  a  psalm." 

"  There  iss  a  book  of  himes  [hymns]  here,  and 
maybe  you  will  be  liking  one  of  them." 

And  Lachlan  produced  the  little  book  Flora  got 
in  that  London  church  when  the  preacher  told  her 
she  was  missed. 

"  We  will  not  sing  hymns,  father,  for  I  am  re- 
membering that  you  hef  a  conscience  against 
hymns,  and  I  did  not  know  that  you  had  that 
book." 

"  My  conscience  wass  sometimes  better  than  the 
Bible,  Flora,  and  if  God  will  be  sending  a  hime  to 
bind  up  your  heart  when  it  wass  broken,  it  iss  your 
father  that  will  be  wanting  to  sing  that  hime. 

"  It  iss  here,"  continued  Lachlan  in  triumph, 
"  for  I  hef  often  been  reading  that  hime,  and  I  am 
not  seeing  much  wrong  in  it." 

"  But  each  hymn  hass  got  its  own  tune,  father, 


Il8  TRANSFORMATION  OF  LACHLAN  CAMPBELL. 

and  you  will  not  know  the  way  that  it  goes,  and 
the  doctor  will  not  be  wishing  me  to  sing/' 

"  You  are  a  good  girl,  Flora,  but  you  are  not  so 
clever  as  your  father;  oh,  no !  for  I  hef  been  try- 
ing that  hime  on  the  hill,  and  it  will  sing  beautiful 
to  a  Psalm  tune.  You  will  lie  still  and  hear." 

Then  Lachlan  lifted  up  his  voice  in  "  French  " : 

**  There  is  a  fountain  filled  with  blood, 
Drawn  from  Immanuel's  veins, 
And  sinners  plunged  beneath  that  flood 
Lose  all  their  guilty  stains.*' 

The  singing  was  fairly  good,  with  a  whisper 
from  Flora,  till  they  came  to  that  verse  : 

'*  Then  in  a  nobler,  sweeter  song 
I'll  sing  Thy  power  to  save, 
When  this  poor  lisping,  stammering  tongue 
Lies  silent  in  the  grave," 

when  Lachlan  seemed  to  lose  the  tune,  and  be 
falling  into  a  coronach. 

"We  must  not  be  singing  that  to-day,  father, 
for  God  iss  fery  good  to  us,  and  I  will  be  stronger 
every  week,  and  maybe  you  will  be  saying  that  we 
are  thankful  in  your  prayer." 

Then  I  realised  my  baseness,  and  went  off  on 
tiptoe  (had  the  dogs  been  at  home  it  had  not  been 
so  easy  to  escape)  ;  but  first  I  heard,  "  Our  Father.' 
It  was  a  new  word  for  Lachlan ;  he  used  to  say' 
Jehovah. 

The  doctor  paid  his  last  visit  one  frosty  winter 
day,  and  was  merciless  on  Lachlan. 

"What  for  are  ye  cockering  up  this  lassie,  and 
no  getting  her  doon  tae  the  kirk  ?  It's  clean  dis- 
gracefu'  in  an  Elder,  and  if  I  were  yir  minister  a* 


AS  A  LITTLE  CHILD.  IIQ 

wud  hae  ye  sessioned.  Sail,  ye 're  hard  enough  on 
ither  fouk  that  are  no  kirk  greedy." 

"  You  will  not  be  speaking  that  way  next  Sab- 
bath, for  it  iss  in  her  pew  Flora  will  be  sitting 
with  her  father,"  said  Lachlan,  in  great  spirits. 

Flora  caught  him  studying  her  closely  for  some 
days,  as  if  he  were  taking  her  measure,  and  he  an- 
nounced that  he  had  business  in  Muirtown  on 
Friday. 

When  he  came  up  in  the  market  train  he  was 
carrying  a  large  paper  parcel,  and  attempted  a  joke 
with  Peter  at  a  window  of  the  third.  From  a 
critical  point  of  view  it  was  beneath  notice,  but 
as  Lachlan's  first  effort  it  was  much  tasted. 

"  Ye'ill  believe  me  noo,  Peter,  since  ye've  heard 
him.  Did  ye  ever  see  sic  a  change  ?  It's  maist 
astonishin'." 

"  Man,  Hillocks,  div  ye  no  see  he's  gotten 
back  his  dochter,  and  it's  made  him  anither 
man  ?  "  •»'  ' 

Lachlan  showed  Flora  a  new  pair  of  shears  he 
had  bought  in  Muirtown,  and  a  bottle  of  sheep 
embrocation,  but  she  did  not  know  he  had  hidden 
his  parcel  in  the  byre,  and  that  he  opened  it  four 
separate  times  on  Saturday. 

From  daybreak  on  Sabbath  Lachlan  went  in  and 
out  till  he  returned  with  Marget  Howe. 

"  Mrs.  Howe  iss  very  kind,  and  she  will  be 
conflng  to  help  you  with  your  dresses,  Flora,  for 
we  will  be  wanting  you  to  look  well  this  day,  and 
here  iss  some  small  thing  to  keep  you  warm,"  and 
Lachlan  produced  with  unspeakable  pride  a  jacket 
lined  with  flannel  and  trimmed  with  fur. 

So  her  father  and  Marget  dressed  Flora  for  the 


120  TRANSFORMATION  OF  LACHLAN  CAMPBELL. 

kirk,  and  they  went  together  down  the  path  on 
which  the  light  had  shone  that  night  of  her  return. 

There  were  only  two  dog-carts  in  the  Free  Kirk 
Session,  and  Burnbrae  was  waiting  with  his  for 
Flora  at  the  foot  of  the  hill. 

"  I  bid  ye  welcome,  Flora,  in  the  name  o'  oor 
kirk.  It's  a  gled  day  for  your  father,  and  for  us 
a'  tae  see  you  back  again  and  strong.  And  noo 
ye'ill  just  get  up  aside  me  in  the  front,  and  Mis- 
tress Hoo  'ill  hap  ye  round,  for  we  maunna  let  ye 
come  to  ony  ill  the  first  day  yir  oot,  or  we'ill  never 
hear  the  end  o't."  And  so  the  honest  man  went 
on,  for  he  was  as  near  the  breaking  as  Drumtochty 
nature  allowed. 

"  A'body's  pleased,"  said  Marget  to  Lachlan  as 
they  sat  on  the  back  seat  and  caught  the  faces  of 
the  people.  "  This  is  the  first  time  I  have  seen 
the  fifteenth  of  Luke  in  Drumtochty.  It's  a  bonnie 
sicht,  and  a'm  thinkin'  it's  still  bonnier  in  the  pres- 
ence o'  the  angels." 

"  Flora  Cammil's  in  the  kirk  the  day,"  and  the 
precentor  looked  at  Carmichael  with  expectation. 
"  The  fouk  are  terrible  taen  up  wi'  Lachlan  and 
her." 

"  What  do  you  think  of  the  Hundred  and  third 
Psalm,  Robert  ?  It  would  go  well  this  morning." 

"The  verra  word  that  was  on  my  lips,  and 
Lachlan  '11  be  lookin'  for  Coleshill." 

Lachlan  had  put  Flora  in  his  old  place  ne^  the 
wall  (he  would  not  need  it  again,  having  retired 
from  the  office  of  inquisitor),  and  sat  close  beside 
her,  with  great  contentment  on  his  face.  The 
manners  of  Drumtochty  were  perfect,  and  no  one 
turned  his  head  by  one  inch  ;  but  Marget  Howe, 


AS  A    LITTLE  CHILD.  121 

sitting  behind  in  Burnbrae's  pew,  saw  Flora's  hand 
go  out  to  Lachlan's  as  the  people  sang : 

**  All  thine  iniquities  who  doth 

Most  graciously  forgive, 
Who  thy  diseases  all  and  pains 
Doth  heal  and  thee  relieve.'* 

The  Session  met  that  week,  and  a  young  girl 
broke  down  utterly  in  her  examination  for  the 
Sacrament,  so  that  not  even  Burnbrae  could  get 
a  correct  answer. 

She  rose  in  great  confusion  and  sorrow. 

"  A1  see  it  wuclna  be  fit  for  the  like  o'  me  taegae 
forrit,  but  a'  had  set  ma  hert  on't ;  it  wes  the  last 
thing  He  askit  o'  His  freends,"  and  she  left  before 
anyone  could  bid  her  stay. 

<4  Moderator,"  said  Lachlan,  "it  iss  a  great  joy 
for  me  to  move  that  Mary  Macfarlane  get  her 
token,  and  I  will  be  wishing  that  we  all  had  her 
warrant,  oh,  yes !  for  there  iss  no  warrant  like  love. 
And  there  is  something  that  I  must  be  asking  of 
the  elders,  and  it  is  to  forgive  me  for  my  pride  in 
this  Session.  I  wass  thinking  that  I  knew  more 
than  any  man  in  Drumtochty,  and  wass  judging 
God's  people.  But  He  hass  had  mercy  upon 
Simon  the  Pharisee,  and  you  hef  all  been  very  good 
to  me  and  Flora.  .  .  .  The  Scripture  hass  been 
fulfilled,  *  So  the  last  shall  be  first,  and  the  first 
last.' " 

Then  the  minister  asked  Burnbrae  to  pray,  and 
the  Spirit  descended  on  that  good  man,  of  simple 
heart : 

"  Almichty  Father,  we  are  a'  Thy  puirand  sinfu' 
bairns,  wha  wearied  o'  hame  and  gaed  awa'  intae 


122  TRANSFORMATION  OF  LACHLAN  CAMPBELL. 

the  far  country.  Forgive  us,  for  we  didna  ken 
what  we  were  leavin'  or  the  sair  hert  we  gied  oor 
Father.  It  wes  weary  wark  tae  live  wi'  oor  sins, 
but  we  wud  never  hev  come  back  had  it  no  been 
for  oor  Elder  Brither.  He  cam'  a  long  road  tae 
find  us,  and  a  sore  travail  He  had  afore  He  set  us 
free.  He's  been  a  glide  Brither  tae  us,  and  we've 
been  a  heavy  chairge  tae  Him.  May  He  keep  a 
firm  haud  o'  us,  aud  guide  us  in  the  richt  road  and 
bring  us  back  gin  we  wander,  and  tell  us  a*  we 
need  tae  know  till  the  gloamin'  come.  Gither  us  in 
then,  we  pray  Thee,  and  a'  we  luve,  no  a  bairn 
missin',  and  may  we  sit  doon  for  ever  in  oor  ain 
Father's  House.  ,  Amen." 

As  Burnbrae  said  Amen,  Carmichael  opened  his 
eyes,  and  had  a  vision  which  will  remain  with  him 
until  the  day  break  and  the  shadows  flee  away. 

The  six  elders— three  small  farmers,  a  tailor, 
a  stonemason,  and  a  shepherd — were  standing  be- 
neath the  lamp,  and  the  light  fell  like  a  halo  on 
their  bent  heads.  That  poor  little  vestry  had  dis- 
appeared, and  this  present  world  was  forgotten. 
The  sons  of  God  had  come  into  their  heritage, 
*  for  the  things  which  are  seen  are  temporal,  but 
the  things  which  are  not  seen  are  eternal." 


THE  CUNNING  SPEECH  OF 
DRUMTOCHTY. 


SPEECH  in  Drumtochty  distilled  slowly,  drop  by 
drop,  and  the  faces  of  our  men  were  carved  in 
stone.  Visitors,  without  discernment,  used  to  pity 
our  dulness  and  lay  themselves  out  for  missionary 
work.  Before  their  month  was  over  they  spoke 
bitterly  of  us,  as  if  we  had  deceived  them,  and 
departed  with  a  grudge  in  their  hearts.  When 
Hillocks  scandalised  the  Glen  by  letting  his  house 
and  living  in  the  bothie, — through  sheer  greed  of 
money, — it  was  taken  by  a  fussy  little  man  from 
the  South,  whose  control  over  the  letter  "  h  "  was 
uncertain,  but  whose  self-confidence  bordered  on 
the  miraculous.  As  a  deacon  of  the  Social  Reli- 
gionists,— a  new  denomination,  which  had  made 
an  'it  with  Sunday  Entertainments, — and  Chairman 
of  the  Amalgamated  Sons  of  Rest, — a  society  of 
persons  with  conscientious  objections  to  work 
between  meals,— he  was  horrified  at  the  primeval 
simplicity  of  the  Glen,  where  no  meeting  of  pro- 
test had  been  held  in  the  memory  of  living  man, 
and  the  ministers  preached  from  the  Bible.  It  was 
understood  that  he  was  to  do  his  best  for  us,  and 
there  was  curiosity  in  the  kirkyard. 

"  Whatna  like  man  is  that  English  veesitor  ye've 


124     THE  CUNNING  SPEECH  OF  DRUMTOCHTY. 

got,  Hillocks  ?  a'  hear  he's  fleein'  ower  the  Glen, 
yammerin'  and  haverin'  like  a  starlin'." 

"  He's  a  gabby  [talkative]  body,  Drumsheugh, 
there's  nae  doot  o'  that,  but  terrible  ignorant. 

"  Says  he  tae  me  nae  later  than  yesterday* 
'  That's  a  fine  field  o'  barley  ye've  there,  Maister 
Harris,'  an'  as  sure  as  deith  a'  didna  ken  whaur  tae 
luik,  for  it  was  a  puckle  aits." 

"  Keep's  a',"  said  Whinnie ;  "  he's  been  awfu' 
negleckit  when  he  was  a  bairn,  or  maybe  there's  a 
want  in  the  puir  cratur." 

Next  Sabbath  Mr.  Urijah  Hopps  appeared  in 
person  among  the  fathers — who  looked  at  each 
other  over  his  head — and  enlightened  them  on 
supply  and  demand,  the  Game  Laws,  the  produc- 
tion of  cabbages  for  towns,  the  iniquity  of  an 
Established  Church,  and  the  bad  metre  of  the 
Psalms  of  David. 

"You  must  'ave  henterprise,  or  it's  hall  hup 
with  you  farmers." 

"  Ay,  ay,"  responded  Drumsheugh,  after  a  long 
pause,  and  then  every  man  concentrated  his 
attention  on  the  belfry  of  the  kirk. 

"  Is  there  onything  ava'  in  the  body,  think  ye, 
Domsie,"  as  Mr.  Hopps  bustled  into  kirk,  "  or  is't 
a'  wind  ?  " 

"Three  wechtfu's  o'  naething,  Drumsheugh; 
a'  peety  the  puir  man  if  Jamie  Soutar  gets  a 
baud  o'  him." 

Jamie  was  the  cynic  of  the  Glen — who  had 
pricked  many  a  wing  bag — and  there  was  a 
general  feeling  that  his  meeting  with  Mr.  Hopps 
would  not  be  devoid  of  interest.  When  he  showed 
himself  anxious  to  learn  next  Sabbath,  any  man 
outside  Drumtochty  might  have  been  deceived,  for 


THE  CUNNING  SPEECH  OF  DRUMTOCHTY.     125 

Jamie  could  withdraw  every  sign  of  intelligence 
from  his  face,  as  when  shutters  close  upon  a  shop 
window.  Our  visitor  fell  at  once  into  the  trap, 
and  made  things  plain  xo  the  meanest  capacity, 
until  Jamie  elicited  from  the  guileless  Southron 
that  he  had  never  heard  of  the  Act  of  Union ; 
that  Adam  Smith  was  a  new  book  he  hoped  to- 
buy;  that  he  did  not  known  the  difference  be- 
tween an  Arminian  and  a  Calvinist,  and  that  he 
supposed  the  Confession  of  Faith  was  invented 
in  Edinburgh,  This  in  the  briefest  space  of  time, 
and  by  way  of  information  to  Drumtochty.  James 
was  making  for  general  literature,  and  had  still 
agriculture  in  reserve,  when  Drumsheugh  inter- 
vented  in  the  humanity  of  his  heart : 

"  A'  dinna  like  tae  interrupt  yir  conversation, 
Maister  Hopps,  but  it's  no  verra  safe  for  ye  tae 
be  stannin'  here  sae  lang.  Oor  air  hes  a  bit  nip 
in't,  and  is  mair  searchin'  than  doon  Sooth. 
Jamie  'ill  be  speirin'  a*  mornin'  gin  ye'ill  answer 
him,  but  a'm  thinkin'  ye'ill  be  warmer  in  the  kirk." 

And  Drumsheugh  escorted  Mr.  Hopps  to  cover, 
who  began  to  suspect  that  he  had  been  turned 
inside  out,  and  found  wanting. 

Drumtochty  had  listened  with  huge  delight, 
but  without  a  trace  of  expression,  and,  on  Mr. 
Hopps  reaching  shelter,  three  boxes  were  offered 
Jamie. 

The  group  was  still  lost  in  admiration  when 
Drumsheugh  returned  from  his  errand  of  mercy. 

"  Sail,  ye've  dune  the  job  this  time,  Jamie. 
Ye're  an  awfu'  creetic.  Yon  man  'ill  keep  a  quiet 
cheep  till  he  gets  Sooth.  It  passes  me  hoo  a  body 
wif  sae  little  in  him  hes  the  face  tae  open  his 
mooth." 


126     THE  CUNNING  SPEECH  OF  DRUMTOCHTY. 

"  Ye  did  it  weel,  Jamie,"  Domsie  added,  "  a 
clean  furrow  frae  end  tae  end." 

"  Toots,  fouk,  yir  makin'  ower  muckle  o'  it.  It 
wes  licht  grund,  no  worth  puttin'  in  a  ploo." 

Mr.  Hopps  explained  to  me,  before  leaving,  that 
he  had  been  much  pleased  with  the  scenery  of  our 
Glen  but  disappointed  in  the  people. 
I     "  They  may  not  be  hignorant,"  said  the  little 
J  man  doubtfully,  "  but  no  man  could  call  them 
\haffable." 

It  flashed  on  me  for  the  first  time  that  perhaps 
there  may  have  been  the  faintest  want  of  geniality 
in  the  Drumtochty  manner,  but  it  was  simply  the 
reticence  of  a  subtle  and  conscientious  people. 
Intellect  with  us  had  been  brought  to  so  fine  an 
edge  by  the  Shorter  Catechism  that  it  could  detect 
endless  distinctions,  and  was  ever  on  the  watch 
against  inaccuracy.  Farmers  who  could  state  the 
esoteric  doctrine  of  "  spiritual  independence  "  be- 
tween the  stilts  of  the  plough,  and  talked  familiarly 
of  "  co-ordinate  jurisdiction  with  mutual  subordi- 
nation," were  not  likely  to  fall  into  the  vice  of 
generalisation.  When  James  Soutar  was  in  good 
fettle,  he  could  trace  the  whole  history  of  Scottish 
secession  from  the  beginning,  winding  his  way 
through  the  maze  of  Original  Sececlers  and  Came- 
ronians,  Burghers  and  Anti-Burghers — there  were 
days  when  he  would  include  the  Glassites — with 
unfaltering  step  ;  but  this  was  considered  a  feat 
even  in  Drumtochty,  and  it  was  admitted  that 
Jamie  had  "  a  gift  o'  discreemination."  We  all 
had  the  gift  in  measure,  and  dared  not  therefore 
allow  ourselves  the  expansive  language  of  the 
South.  What  right  had  any  human  being  to  fling 
about  sunerlative  adiectives.  seeing  what  a  bier 


THE  CUNNING  SPEECH  OF  DRUMTOCHTY.     127 

place  the  world  is,  and  how  little  we  know  ? 
Purple  adjectives  would  have  been  as  much  out  of 
place  in  our  conversation  as  a  bird  of  paradise 
among  our  muirfowl. 

Mr.  Hopps  was  so  inspired  by  one  of  our  sun- 
sets—to  his  credit  let  that  be  told — that  he  tried 
to  drive  Jamie  into  extravagance. 

" '  No  bad  ! '  I  call  it  glorious,  and  if  it  hisn't, 
then  I'd  like  to  know  what  his." 

"  Man,"  replied  Soutar  austerely,  "  ye'ill  surely 
keep  ae  word  for  the  twenty-first  o'  Reevelation." 

Had  any  native  used  "  magnificent,"  there 
would  have  been  an  uneasy  feeling  in  the  Glen  ; 
the  man  must  be  suffering  from  wind  in  the 
head,  and  might  upset  the  rotation  of  crops, 
sowing  his  young  grass  after  potatoes,  or  re- 
placing turnip  with  beetroot.  But  nothing  of 
that  sort  happened  in  my  time ;  we  kept  our- 
selves well  in  hand.  It  rained  in  torrents  else- 
where, with  us  it  onlyj  "  threatened  tae  be 
weet" — some  provision  had  to  be  made  for  the 
deluge.  Strangers,  in  the  pride  of  health,  de- 
scribed themselves  as  "fit  for  anything,"  but 
Hillocks,  who  died  at  ninety-two,  and  never 
had  an  hour's  illness,  did  not  venture,  in  his 
prime,  beyond  "  Gaein'  aboot,  a'm  thankfu'  to 
say,  gaein'  aboot." 

When  one  was  seriously  ill,  he  was  said  to 
be  "  gey  an'  sober,"  and  no  one  died  in  Drum- 
tochty — "  he  slippit  awa." 

Hell  and  heaven  were  pulpit  words ;  in  private 
life  we  spoke  of  "  the  ill  place  "  and  "  oor  lang 
hame." 

When  tne  corn  sprouted  in  the  stooks  one 
late  wet  harvest,  and  Burnbrae  lost  half  his 


128     THE  CUNNING  SPEECH  OF  DRUMTOCHTY. 

capital,  he  only  said,  "  It's  no  lichtsome,"  and  no 
congratulations  on  a  good  harvest  ever  extracted 
more  from  Drumsheugh  than  "  A'  daurna  com- 
plain." 

Drumsheugh  might  be  led  beyond  bounds 
in  reviewing  a  certain  potato  transaction,  but, 
as  a  rule,  he  was  a  master  of  measured  speech. 
After  the  privilege  of  much  intercourse  with 
that  excellent  man,  I  was  able  to  draw  up  his 
table  of  equivalents  for  the  three  degrees  of 
wickedness.  When  there  was  just  a  suspicion 
of  trickiness — neglecting  the  paling  between  your 
cattle  and  your  neighbour's  clover  field — "  He's 
no  juist  the  man  for  an  elder."  If  it  deepened 
into  deceit — running  a  "  greasy "  horse  for  an 
hour  before  selling — "  He  wud  be  better  o'  anither 
dip."  And  in  the  case  of  downright  fraud — find- 
ing out  what  a  man  had  offered  for  his  farm  and 
taking  it  over  his  head — the  offender  was  "  an 
ill  gettit  wratch."  The  two  latter  phrases  were 
dark  with  theology,  and  even  the  positive  degree 
of  condemnation  had  an  ecclesiastical  flavor. 

When  Drumsheugh  approved  anyone,  he  was 
content  to  say,  "  He  micht  be  waur,"  a  position 
beyond  argument.  On  occasion  he  ventured  upon 
bolder  assertions :  "  There's  nae  mischief  in 
Domsie  ;  "  and  once  I  heard  him  in  a  white  heat 
of  enthusiasm  pronounce  Dr.  Davidson,  our  parish 
minister,  "A  graund  man  ony  wy  ye  tak  him." 
But  he  seemed  ashamed  after  this  outburst,  and 
44  shooed  "  the  crows  off  the  corn  with  needless 
vigour. 

No  Drumtochty  man  would  commit  himself  to  a 
positive  statement  on  any  subject  if  he  could  find 
a  way  of  escape,  not  because  his  mind  was  con- 


THE  CUNNING  SPEECH  OF  DRUMTOCHTY.     I2Q 

fused,  but  because  he  was  usually  in  despair  for 
an  accurate  expression.  It  was  told  for  years 
in  the  Glen,  with  much  relish  and  almost  funereal 
solemnity,  how  a  Drumtochty  witness  held  his 
own  in  an  ecclesiastical  court. 

"  You  are  beadle  in  the  parish  of  Pitscourie,'" 
began  the  advocate  with  a  light  heart,  not  knowing 
the  witness's  birthplace. 

"  It's  a  fac',"  after  a  long  pause  and  a  careful 
review  of  the  whole  situation. 

"  You  remember  that  Sabbath  when  the  minister 
of  Netheraid  preached." 

"  Weel,  a'll  admit  that,"  making  a  concession  to 
justice. 

"  Did  ye  see  him  in  the  vestry  ?  " 

"  A'  canna  deny  it." 

"  Was  he  intoxicated  ?  " 

The  crudeness  of  this  question  took  away 
Drumtochty's  breath,  and  suggested  that  some- 
thing must  have  been  left  out  in  the  creation  of 
that  advocate.  Our  men  were  not  bigoted 
abstainers,  but  I  never  heard  any  word  so  coarse 
and  elementary  as  intoxicated  used  in  Drum- 
tochty. Conversation  touched  this  kind  of  cir- 
cumstance with  delicacy  and  caution,  for  we  keenly 
realised  the  limitations  of  human  knowledge. 

"  He  hed  his  mornin',"  served  all  ordinary  pur- 
poses, and  in  cases  of  emergency,  such  as  Muir- 
town  market : 

"  Ye  cud  see  he  hed  been  tastin'." 

When  an  advocate  forgot  himself  so  far  as  to 
say  intoxicated,  a  Drumtochty  man  might  be  ex- 
cused for  being  upset. 

"  Losh,  man,"  when  he  had  recovered,  "  hoo  cud 
ony  richt-thinkin'  man  sweer  tae  sic  an  awfu' 


130     THE  CUNNING  SPEECH  OF  DRUMTOCHTY. 

word  ?  Na,  na ;  a'  daurna  use  that  kin'  o'  langidge ; 
it's  no  cannie." 

The  advocate  tried  again,  a  humbler,  wiser  man. 

"  Was  there  a  smell  of  drink  on  him  ?  " 

"  Noo,  since  ye  press  me,  a'll  juist  tell  ye  the 
hale  truth ;  it  wes  doonricht  stupid  o'  me,  but,  as 
sure  as  a'm  livin',  a*  clean  forgot  to  try  him." 

Then  the  chastened  council  gathered  himself  up 
for  his  last  effort. 

"  Will  you  answer  one  question,  sir  ?  you  are  on 
your  oath.  Did  you  see  anything  unusual  in  Mr. 
MacOmish's  walk  ?  Did  he  stagger  ?  " 

"  Na,"  when  he  had  spent  two  minutes  in  recall- 
ing the  scene.  "  Na,  I  cudna  say  stagger,  but  he 
micht  gie  a  bit  trimmil." 

"  We  are  coming  to  the  truth  now ;  what  did 
you  consider  the  cause  of  the  trimmiling,  as  you 
call  it  ?  "  and  the  innocent  young  advocate  looked 
round  in  triumph. 

"  Weel,"  replied  Drumtochty,  making  a  clean 
breast  of  it,  "  since  ye  maun  hae  it,  a'  heard  that 
he  wes  a  very  learned  man,  and  it  cam'  intae  ma 
mind  that  the  Hebrew,  which,  a'm  telt,  is  a  very 
contrairy  langidge,  hed  gaen  doon  and  settled  in 
his  legs." 

The  parish  of  Netheraird  was  declared  vacant, 
but  it  was  understood  that  the  beadle  of  Pitscourie 
had  not  contributed  to  this  decision. 

His  own  parish  followed  the  trial  with  intense 
interest,  and  were  much  pleased  with  Andra's 
appearance. 

"  Sail,"  said  Hillocks,  "  Andra  has  mair  gump- 
tion than  ye  wud  think,  and  yon  advocat  didna 
mak  muckle  o'  him.  Na,  na ;  Andra  wesna  brocht 
up  in  the  Glen  for  naethin'.  Maister  MacOmish 


THE  CUNNING  SPEECH  OF  DRUMTOCHTY.     13' 

may  hae  taen  his  gless  atween  the  Hebrew  and  the 
Greek,  and  it's  no  verra  suitable  for  a  minister,  but 
that's  anither  thing  frae  bein'  intoxicat." 

"  Keep's  a',  if  ye  were  tae  pit  me  in  the  box  this 
meenut,  a*  cudna  sweer  a*  hed  ever  seen  a  man 
intoxicat  in  ma  life,  except  a  puir  body  o'  an  Eng- 
lish bag-man  at  Muirtown  Station.  A'  doot  he  hed 
bin  meddlin'  wi'  speerits,  and  they  were  wheelin* 
him  tae  his  kerridge  in  a  luggage-barrow.  It  wes 
a  fearsome  sicht,  and  eneugh  tae  keep  ony  man 
frae  speakin'  aboot  intoxicat  in  yon  loose  wy." 

Archie  Moncur  fought  the  drinking  customs  of 
the  Glen  night  and  day  with  moderate  success, 
and  one  winter's  night  he  gave  me  a  study  in 
his  subject  which,  after  the  lapse  of  years,  I  still 
think  admirable  for  its  reserve  power  and  Dan- 
tesque  conclusion. 

"  They  a'  begin  in  a  sma'  wy,"  explained  Archie, 
almost  hidden  in  the  depths  of  my  reading  chair, 
and  emphasising  his  points  with  a  gentle  motion 
of  his  right  hand;  "naethin'  tae  mention  at  first, 
juist  a  gless  at  an  orra  time — a  beerial  or  a  mer- 
ridge — and  maybe  New  Year.  That's  the  first 
stage ;  they  ca'  that  moderation.  After  a  while 
they  tak  a  mornin'  wi'  a  freend,  and  syne  a  gless 
at  the  public-hoose  in  the  evenin',  and  they  treat 
ane  anither  on  market  days.  That's  the  second 
stage;  that's  'tastinV  Then  they  need  it  reg'lar 
every  day,  nicht  an*  mornin',  and  they'ill  sit  on  at 
nicht  till  they're  turned  oot.  They'ill  fecht  ower 
the  Confession  noo,  and  laist  Sabbath's  sermon, 
in  the  Kildrummie  train,  till  it's  clean  reediklus. 
That's  drammin',  and  when  they've  hed  a  year  or 
twa  at  that  they  hee  their  first  spatie  [spate  is  a 
river  flood],  and  that  gives  them  a  bit  fricht.  But 


132     THE  CUNNING  SPEECH  OF  DRUMTOCHTY. 

aff  they  set  again,  and  then  comes  anither  spatie, 
and  the  doctor  hes  tae  bring  them  roond.  They 
ca'  [drive]  cannie  for  a  year  or  sae,  but  the  feein' 
market  puts  the  feenishin'  titch.  They  slip  aff 
sudden  in  the  end,  and  then  they  juist  gang  plunk 
— ay,"  said  Archie  in  a  tone  of  gentle  meditation, 
looking,  as  it  were,  over  the  edge,  "  juist  plunk." 

Nothing  ever  affected  my  imagination  more 
powerfully  than  the  swift  surprise  and  gruesome 
suggestion  of  that  "  plunk." 

But  the  literary  credit  of  Drumtochty  rested  on  a 
broad  basis,  and  no  one  could  live  with  us  without 
having  his  speech  braced  for  life.  You  felt  equal 
to  any  emergency,  and  were  always  able  to  express 
your  mind  with  some  degree  of  accuracy  ;  which  is 
one  of  the  luxuries  of  life.  There  is,  for  instance, 
a  type  of  idler  who  exasperates  one  to  the  point  of 
assault,  and  whom  one  hungers  to  describe  after  a 
becoming  manner.  He  was  rare  in  the  cold  air  of 
the  North,  but  we  had  produced  one  specimen, 
and  it  was  my  luck  to  be  present  when  he  came 
back  from  a  distant  colony,  and  Jamie  Soutar 
welcomed  him  in  the  kirkyard. 

"  Weel,  Chairlie,"  and  Jamie  examined  the  well- 
dressed  prodigal  from  top  to  toe,  "  this  is  a  prood 
moment  for  Drumtochty,  and  an  awfu'  relief  tae 
ken  yir  safe.  Man,  ye  hevna  wanted  meat  nor 
claithes ;  a*  tak  it  rael  neeburly  o'  ye  tae  speak  ava 
wi*  us  auld-fashtoned  fouk. 

"  Ye  needna  look  soor  nor  cock  yir  nose  in  the 
air,  for  you  an'  me  are  auld  freends,  and  yir  puir 
granny  wes  na  mair  anxious  aboot  ye  than  a* 
wes. 

" '  A'm  feared  that  laddie  o'  Bell's  'ill  kill  himsel' 
oot  in  Ameriky/  were  ma  verra  words  tae  Hillocks 


THE  CUNNING  SPEECH  OF  DRUMTOCHTY.    133 

here ;  '  he'ill  be  slavin'  his  flesh  aff  his  banes  tae 
mak  a  fortune  and  keep  her  comfortable/ 

"  It  was  a  rael  satisfaction  tae  read  yir  letter 
frae  the  backwoods— or  was't  a  public-hoose  in 
New  York  ?  ma  memory's  no  what  it  used  to  be — 
tellin*  hoo  ye  were  aye  thinkin*  o'  yer  auld  granny, 
and  wantin'  tae  come  hame  and  be  a  comfort  tae 
her  if  she  wud  send  ye  oot  twenty  pund. 

"  The  bit  that  affeckit  me  maist  wes  the  text 
frae  the  Prodigal  Son — it  cam'  in  sae  natural. 
Mony  a  broken  hert  hes  that  story  bund  up,  as  we 
ken  weel  in  this  Glen  ;  but  it's  dune  a  feck  o'  mis- 
chief tae — that  gude  word  o'  the  Maister.  Half 
the  wastrels  in  the  warld  pay  their  passage  hame 
wi'  that  Parable,  and  get  a  bran  new  outfit  for 
anither  start  in  the  far  country. 

"  Noo  dinna  turn  red,  Chairlie,  for  the  neeburs 
ken  ye  were  tae  work  yir  wy  hame  hed  it  no 
been  for  yir  health.  But  there's  a  pack  of  rascals 
'ill  sorn  on  their  father  as  lang  as  he's  livin',  and 
they'ill  stairve  a  weedowed  mither,  and  they'ill 
take  a  sister's  wages,  and  if  they  canna  get  ony 
better  a  dune  body  o'  eighty  'ill  serve  them. 

"  Man,  Chairlie,  if  a1  hed  ma  wull  wi'  thae 
wawfies,  I  wud  ship  them  aff  tae  a  desert  island, 
wi'  ae  sack  o'  seed  potatoes  and  anither  o'  seed 
corn,  and  let  them  work  or  dee.  A*  ken  yir  wi' 
me  there,  for  ye  aye  hed  an  independent  spirit,  and 
wesna  feared  tae  bend  yir  back. 

"  Noo,  if  a'  cam'  across  ane  o'  thae  meeserable 
objects  in  Drumtochty,  div  ye  ken  the  advice  I 
wud  gie  him  ? 

"  A  wud  tell  the  daidlin',  thowless,  feckless, 
fusionless  wratch  o'  a  cratur  tae  watch  for  the 
first  spate  and  droon  himsel'  in  the  Tochty. 


134     THE  CUNNING  SPEECH  OF  DRUMTOCHTY. 

"  What's  he  aff  through  the  graves  for  in  sic  a 
hurry  ?  "  and  Jamie  followed  Charlie's  retreating 
figure  with  a  glance  of  admirable  amazement; 
"  thae's  no  very  gude  mainners  he's  learned  in 
Ameriky." 

"  Thank  ye,  Jeemes,  thank  ye ;  we're  a'  obleeged 
tae  ye,"  said  Drumsheugh.  "A*  wes  ettlin'  tae 
lay  ma  hands  on  the  whup-ma-denty  [fop]  masel', 
but  ma  certes,  he's  hed  his  kail  het  this  mornin'. 
Div  ye  think  he'ill  tak  yir  advice  ?  " 

"  Nae  fear  o'  him ;  thae  neer-dae-weels  haena 
the  spunk;  but  a'm  expeckin'  he'ill  flee  the 
pairish." 

Which  he  did.  Had  you  called  him  indolent  or 
useless  he  had  smiled,  but  "  daidlin',  thowless, 
feckless,  fushionless  wratch,"  drew  blood  at  every 
stroke,  like  a  Russian  knout. 

We  had  tender  words  also,  that  still  bring  the 
tears  to  my  eyes,  and  chief  among  them  was 
"  couthy,"  What  did  it  mean  ?  It  meant  a  letter 
to  some  tired  townsman,  written  in  homely  Scotch, 
and  bidding  him  come  to  get  new  life  from  the 
Drumtochty  air :  and  the  grip  of  an  honest  hand 
on  the  Kildrummie  platform,  whose  warmth  lasted 
till  you  reached  the  Glen ;  and  another  welcome 
at  the  garden  gate  that  mingled  with  the  scent  of 
honeysuckle,  and  moss-roses,  and  thyme,  and  car- 
nations ;  and  the  best  cf  everything  that  could  be 
given  you ;  and  motherly  nursing  in  illness,  with 
skilly  remedies  of  the  olden  time  ;  and  wise,  cheery 
talk  that  spake  no  ill  of  man  or  God  ;  and  loud 
reproaches  if  you  proposed  to  leave  under  a  month 
or  two  ;  and  absolute  conditions  that  you  must  re- 
turn ;  and  a  load  of  country  dainties  for  a  bachelor's 
bare  commons ;  and  far  more,  that  cannot  be  put 


THE  CUNNING  SPEECH  OF  DRUMTOCHTY.     135 

into  words,  of  hospitality,  and  kindness,  and  quiet- 
ness, and  restfulness,  and  loyal  friendship  of  hearts 
now  turned  to  dust  in  the  old  kirkyard. 

But  the  best  of  all  our  words  were  kept  for 
spiritual  things,  and  the  description  of  a  .  godly 
man.  We  did  not  speak  of  the  "  higher  life,"  nor 
of  a  "  beautiful  Christian,"  for  this  way  of  putting 
it  would  not  have  been  in  keeping  with  the  genius 
•of  Drumtochty.  Religion  there  was  very  lowly 
and  modest — an  inward  walk  with  God.  No  man 
boasted  of  himself,  none  told  the  secrets  of  the 
soul.  But  the  Glen  took  notice  of  its  saints,  and 
did  them  silent  reverence,  which  they  themselves 
never  knew.  Jamie  Soutar  had  a  wicked  tongue, 
and,  at  a  time,  it  played  round  Archie's  temper- 
ance scheme,  but  when  that  good  man's  back  was 
turned  Jamie  was  the  first  to  do  him  justice. 

"  It  wud  set  us  better  if  we  did  as  muckle  gude 
as  Archie ;  he's  a  richt  livinf  man  and  weel  pre- 
pared." 

Our  choicest  tribute  was  paid  by  general  consent 
to  Burnbrae,  and  it  maybe  partiality, but  it  sounds 
to  me  the  deepest  in  religious  speech.  Every  cot- 
tage, strangers  must  understand,  had  at  least  two 
rooms — the  kitchen  where  the  work  was  done, 
that  we  called  the  "But, "and  there  all  kinds  of 
people  came  ;  and  the  inner  chamber  which  held 
the  household  treasures,  that  we  called  the  "  Ben," 
and  there  none  but  a  few  honoured  visitors  had 
entrance.  So  we  imagined  an  outer  court  of  the 
religious  life  where  most  of  us  made  our  home, 
and  a  secret  place  where  only  God's  nearest  friends 
could  enter,  and  it  was  said  of  Burnbrae,  "  He's 
far  ben,"  His  neighbours  had  watched  him,  for 
a  generation  and  more,  buying  and  selling,  plough- 


136     THE  CUNNING  SPEECH  OF  DRUMTOCHTY. 

ing  and  reaping,  going  out  and  in  the  common 
ways  of  a  farmer's  life,  and  had  not  missed  the 
glory  of  the  soul.  The  cynic  of  Drumtochty 
summed  up  his  character  :  "  There's  a  puckle  gude 
fouk  in  the  pairish,  and  ane  or  twa  o'  the  ither 
kind,  and  the  maist  o'  us  are  half  and  between," 
said  Jamie  Sou  tar,  "  but  there's  ae  thing  ye  may 
be  sure  o* — Burnbrae  is  4  far  ben.'  " 


A  WISE  WOMAN. 


OUR  SERMON   TASTER. 

A  DRUMTOCHTY  man,  standing  six  feet  three 
in  his  boots,  sat  himself  down  one  day  in  the  study 
of  a  West-End  minister,  and  gazed  before  him  with 
the  countenance  of  a  sphinx. 

The  sight  struck  awe  into  the  townsman's  heart, 
and  the  power  of  speech  was  paralysed  within 
him. 

"  A'm  frae  Drumtochty,"  began  a  deep,  solemn 
voice.  "  Ye'ill  hae  heard  of  Drumtochty,  of 
coorse.  A've  jined  the  polis ;  the  pay  is  no  that 
bad,  and  the  work  is  naethin'  to  an  able-bodied 
man." 

When  these  particulars  had  been  digested  by 
the  audience : 

"  It's  a  crooded  place  London,  and  the  fouks  aye 
in  a  tiravie  [commotion],  rinnin'  here  and  rinnin' 
there,  and  the  maist  feck  o'  them  dinna  ken  whar* 
they're  gaein*. 

"  It's  officer  this  and  officer  that  frae  mornin* 
till  nicht.  It's  peetifu*  tae  see  the  helplessness  o1 
the  bodies  in  their  ain  toon.  And  they're  freevo- 
lous,"  continued  the  figure,  refreshing  itself  with  a 
reminiscence. 

137 


138  A    WISE  WOMAN. 

"  It  wes  this  verra  mornin*  that  a  man  askit  me 
hoo  tae  get  tae  the  Strand. 

" '  Haud  on,'  I  says,  *  till  ye  come  tae  a  cross 
street,  and  dinna  gang  doon  it,  and  when  ye  see 
anither  pass  it,  but  whup  round  the  third,  and  yir 
nose  'ill  bring  ye  tae  the  Strand/ 

"  He  was  a  shachlin  bit  cratur,  and  he  lookit  up 
at  me. 

"  '  Where  were  you  born,  officer  ?  '  in  his  clippit 
English  tongue. 

"  '  Drumtochty/  a'  said,  '  an*  we  hev  juist  ae 
man  as  sma'  as  you  in  the  hale  Glen/ 

"  He  gied  awa'  lauchin'  like  tae  split  his  sides, 
an*  the  fac'  is  there's  no  ane  o'  them  asks  me  a 
question  but  he  lauchs.  They're  a  light-headed 
fouk,  and  no  sair  educat.  But  we  maunna  boast ; 
they  hevna  hed  our  advantages." 

The  minister  made  a  brave  effort  to  assert  him- 
self. 

"  Is  there  anything  I  can  do "  but  the  figure 

simply  waved  its  hand  and  resumed : 

"  A'm  comin'  tae  that,  but  a  thocht  ye  wud  be 
wantin'  ma  opeenion  o*  London. 

"  Weel,  ye  see,  the  first  thing  a*  did,  of  coorse, 
after  settlin'  doon,  was  tae  gae  roond  the  kirks 
and  hear  what  kin'  o'  ministers  they  hae  up  here. 
A've  been  in  saxteen  kirks  the  last  three  months, 
an*  a  '  wud  hae  been  in  mair  had  it  no  bin  for  ma 
oors. 

"  Ay,  ay,  a*  ken  ye'ill  be  wantin'  ma  judgment/' 
interpreting  a  movement  in  the  chair,  "  an'  ye'ill 
hae  it.  Some  wes  puir  stuff — plenty  o'  water  and 
little  meal — and  some  wesna  sae  bad  for  England. 
But  ye'ill  be  pleased  to  know,"  here  the  figure 
relaxed  and  beamed  on  the  anxious  minister,  "that 


OUR  SERMON  TASTER.  139 

a'm  rael  weel  satisfied  wi'  yersel',  and  a'm  thinkin' 
o*  sittin*  under  ye. 

"  Man,"  were  Drumtochty's  last  words,  "  a1 
wish  Elspeth  Macfadyen  cud  hear  ye,  her  'at  prees 
[tastes]  the  sermons  in  oor  Glen ;  a*  believe  she 
wud  pass  ye,  an'  if  ye  got  a  certeeficat  frae  Els- 
peth, ye  wud  be  a  prood  man." 

Drumtochty  read  widely — Soutar  was  soaked  in 
Carlyle,  and  Marget  Howe  knew  her  "  In 
Memoriam  "  by  heart — but  our  intellectual  life 
centred  on  the  weekly  sermon.  Men  thought 
about  Sabbath  as  they  followed  the  plough  in  our 
caller  air,  and  braced  themselves  for  an  effort  at 
the  giving  out  of  the  text.  The  hearer  had  his 
snuff  and  selected  his  attitude,  and  from  that  mo- 
ment to  the  close  he  never  moved  nor  took  his 
eyes  off  the  preacher.  There  was  a  tradition  that 
one  of  the  Disruption  fathers  had  preached  in  the 
Free  Kirk  for  one  hour  and  fifty  minutes  on  the 
bulwarks  of  Zion,  and  had  left  the  impression  that 
he  was  only  playing  round  the  outskirts  of  his  sub- 
ject. No  preacher  with  anything  to  say  could 
complain  of  Drumtochty,  for  he  got  a  patient, 
honest,  critical  hearing  from  beginning  to  end. 
If  a  preacher  were  slightly  equipped,  the  audience 
may  have  been  trying.  Well-meaning  evangelists 
who  came  with  what  they  called  "  a  simple  Gospel 
address,"  and  were  accustomed  to  have  their 
warmer  passages  punctuated  with  rounds  of  spirit- 
ual applause  in  the  shape  of  smiles  and  nods, 
lost  heart  in  face  of  that  judicial  front,  and  after- 
wards described  Drumtochty  in  the  religious 
papers  as  "  dead."  It  was  as  well  that  these  good 
men  walked  in  a  vain  show,  for,  as  a  matter  of 
fact,  their  hearers  were  painfully  alive. 


«4<>  A    WISE   WOMAN, 

"  Whar  did  yon  wakely  body  come  frae,  Burn- 
brae  ?  It  wes  licht  vvark  the  day.  There  wes  nae 
thocht  worth  mentionin',  and  onything  he  hed  wes 
eked  oot  by  repeetition.  Tae  sae  naethin'  o' 
bairnly  stories." 

"He  lives  aboot  England,  a'm  telt,  an*  dis  a 
feck  o'  gude  in  his  ain  place.  He  hesna  muckle  in 
his  head,  a'll  alloo  that,  Netherton,  but  he's  an 
earnest  bit  cratur." 

"  Ou  ay,  and  fu'  o'  self-conceit.  Did  ye  hear 
hoo  often  he  said  •  I  '  ?  A'  got  as  far  as  saxty-three, 
and  then  a*  lost  coont.  But  a'  keepit  '  dear,'  it 
cam*  tae  the  hundred  neat. 

"  *  Weel  ?  '  a'  says  tae  Elspeth  Macfadyen.  A' 
kent  she  wud  hae  his  measure. 

" '  Gruel,  Netherton,  juist  gruel,  and  eneuch  tae 
scunner  [disgust]  ye  wi'  sugar/" 

It  was  the  birthright  of  every  native  of  the  parish 
to  be  a  critic,  and  certain  were  allowed  to  be  ex- 
perts in  special  departments — Lachlan  Campbell  in 
doctrine  and  Jamie  Soutar  in  logic — but  as  an  all- 
round  practitioner  Mrs.  Macfadyen  had  a  solitary 
reputation.  It  rested  on  a  long  series  of  unre- 
versed  judgments,  with  felicitous  strokes  of  descrip- 
tion that  passed  into  the  literary  capital  of  the 
Glen.  One  felt  it  was  genius,  and  could  only  note 
contributing  circumstances — an  eye  that  took  in 
the  preacher  from  the-  crown  of  his  head  to  the 
sole  of  his  foot ;  an  almost  uncannie  insight  into 
character ;  the  instinct  to  seize  on  every  scrap  of 
evidence;  a  memory  that  was  simply  an  automatic 
register ;  an  unfailing  sense  of  fitness ;  and  an  ab- 
solute impartiality  regarding  subject. 

It  goes  without  saying  that  Mrs.  Macfadyen  did 
not  take  nervous  little  notes  during  the  sermon — 


OUR  SERMON   TASTER.  141 

all  writing  on  Sabbath,  in  kirk  or  outside,  was 
strictly  forbidden  in  Drumtochty — or  mark  her 
Bible,  or  practise  any  other  profane  device  of 
feeble-minded  hearers.  It  did  not  matter  how 
elaborate  or  how  incoherent  a  sermon  might  be ;  it 
could  not  confuse  our  critic. 

When  John  Peddie  of  Muirtown,  who  always 
approached  two  hours,  and  usually  had  to  leave  out 
the  last  head,  took  time  at  the  Drumtochty  Fast, 
and  gave,  at  full  length,  his  famous  discourse  on 
the  total  depravity  of  the  human  race,  from  the 
text,  "  Arise,  shine,  for  thy  light  is  come/'  it  may 
be  admitted  that  the  Glen  wavered  in  its  confidence. 
Human  nature  has  limitations,  and  failure  would 
have  been  no  discredit  to  Elspeth. 

"  They  were  sayin'  at  the  Presbytery/'  Burnbrae 
reported,  "that  it  hes  mair  than  seeventy  heads, 
coontin'  pints,  of  coorse,  and  a*  can  weel  believe 
it.  Na,  na;  it's  no  tae  be  expeckit  that  Elspeth 
cud  gie  them  a'  aifter  ae  hearin'/* 

Jamie  Soutar  looked  in  to  set  his  mind  at  rest, 
and  Elspeth  went  at  once  to  work. 

"  Sit  doon,  Jamie,  for  it  canna  be  dune  in  a 
meenut." 

It  took  twenty-three  minutes  exactly,  for  Jamie 
watched  the  clock. 

"  That's  the  laist,  makin'  seeventy-four,  and 
ye  may  depend  on  every  ane  but  that  fourth 
pint  under  the  sixth  head.  Whether  it  wes  the 
{  beginnin'  o*  faith*  or  'the  origin/  a'  canna  be 
sure,  for  he  cleared  his  throat  at  the  time." 

Peter  Bruce  stood  helpless  at  the  Junction  next 
Friday — Drumtochty  was  celebrating  Elspeth — 
and  the  achievement  established  her  for  life. 

Probationers  who  preached  in  the  vacancy  had 


142  A    WISE   WOMAN. 

heard  rumours,  and  tried  to  identify  their  judge, 
with  the  disconcerting  result  that  they  addressed 
their  floweriest  passages  to  Mistress  Stirton,  who 
was  the  stupidest  woman  in  the  Free  Kirk,  and  had 
once  stuck  in  the  "  chief  end  of  man."  They 
never  suspected  the  sonsy,  motherly  woman,  two 
pews  behind  Donald  Menzies,  with  her  face  of 
demure  interest  and  general  air  of  country 
simplicity.  It  was  as  well  for  the  probationers 
that  they  had  not  caught  the  glint  of  those  black, 
beady  eyes. 

"  It's  curious,"  Mrs.  Macfadyen  remarked  to  me 
one  day,  "  hoo  the  pulpit  fashions  change,  juist 
like  weemen's  bonnets. 

"  Noo  a'  mind  when  auld  Doctor  Ferintosh,  him 
'at  wrote  'Judas  Iscariot  the  first  Residuary/ 
would  stand  twa  meenutes  facing  the  fouk,  and  no 
sit  doon  till  he  hed  his  snuff. 

"  But  thae  young  birkies  gie  oot  'at  they  see 
naebody  comin'  in,  an'  cover  their  face  wi'  ae  hand 
sae  solemn,  that  if  ye  didna  catch  them  keekin' 
through  their  fingers  tae  see  what  like  the  kirk  is, 
ye  wud  think  they  were  prayin'." 

"  There's  not  much  escapes  you,"  I  dared  to  say, 
and  although  the  excellent  woman  was  not  acces- 
sible to  gross  flattery,  she  seemed  pleased. 

"  A'm  thankfu'  that  a'  can  see  withoot  lookin'; 
an'  a'll  wager  nae  man  ever  read  his  sermon  in 
Drumtochty  Kirk,  an'  a'  didna  find  him  oot.  Noo, 
there's  the  new  minister  o'  Netheraird,  he  writes 
his  sermon  on  ae  side  o'  ten  sheets  o'  paper,  an' 
he's  that  carried  awa'  at  the  end  o'  ilka  page  that 
he  disna  ken  what  he's  daein',  an'  the  sleeve  o'  his 
goon  slips  the  sheet  across  tae  the  ither  side  o'  the 
Bible. 


OUR  SERMON   TASTER.  143 

"  But  Doctor  Ferintosh  wes  cleverer,  sail  it  near 
beat  me  tae  detect  him,"  and  Elspeth  paused  to 
enjoy  the  pulpit  ruse.  "  It  cam'  tae  me  sudden  ae 
Sacrament  Monday,  hoo  dis  he  aye  turn  up  twal 
texts,  naither  mair  nor  less,  and  that  set  me  think- 
in'.  Then  a'  noticed  that  he  left  the  Bible  open  at 
the  place  till  anither  text  was  due,  an*  I  wunnered 
a'd  been  sae  slow.  It  was  this  wy:  he  askit  the 
beadle  for  a  gless  o'  water  in  the  vestry,  and  slippet 
his  sermon  in  atween  the  leaves  in  sae  mony  bits. 
A've  wished  for  a  gallery  at  a  time,  but  there's 
mair  credit  in  fmdin'  it  oot  below — ay,  an'  pleasure 
tae;  a'  never  wearied  in  kirk  in  ma  life." 

Mrs.  Macfadyen  did  not  appreciate  prodigal  quo- 
tations of  Scriptures,  and  had  her  suspicions  of  this 
practice. 

"  Tak  the  minister  o'  Pitscourie  noo ;  he's  fair 
fozzy  wi'  trokin'  in  his  gairden  an'  feedin'  pigs,  and 
hesna  studied  a  sermon  for  thirty  year. 

"  Sae  what  dis  he  dae,  think  ye  ?  He  havers  for 
a  while  on  the  errors  o*  the  day,  and  syne  he  says, 
'  That's  what  man  says,  but  what  says  the  Apostle 
Paul  ?  We  shall  see  what  the  Apostle  Paul  says.' 
He  puts  on  his  glasses,  and  turns  up  the  passage, 
and  reads  maybe  ten  verses,  and  then  he's  aff  on 
the  jundy  [trot]  again.  When  a  man  hes  naethin' 
tae  say  he's  aye  lang,  and  a've  seen  him  gie  half  an 
oor  o'  passages,  and  anither  half  oor  o'  havers. 

"  '  He's  a  Bible  preacher,  at  any  rate,'  says  Burn- 
brae  tae  me  laist  Fast,  for,  honest  man,  he  hes  aye 
some  gude  word  for  a  body. 

"'  It's  ae  thing,'  I  said  to  him,  '  tae  feed  a  calf  wi* 
milk,  and  anither  tae  gie  it  the  empty  cogie  tae  lick/ 

"  It's  curious,  but  a've  noticed  that  when  a 
Moderate  gets  lazy  he  preaches  auld  sermons,  but 


144  A    WISE   WOMAN. 

a  Free  Kirk  minister  taks  tae  abusin'  his  neeburs 
and  readin'  screeds  o'  the  Bible. 

"  But  Maister  Pittendreigh  hes  twa  sermons,  at 
ony  rate,"  and  Elspeth  tasted  the  sweets  of  memory 
with  such  keen  relish  that  I  begged  for  a  share. 

"  Well,  ye  see  he's  terrible  prood  o'  his  feenishes, 
and  this  is  ane  o'  them  : 

"  *  Heaven,  ma  brethren,  will  be  far  grander  than 
the  hoose  o'ony  earthly  potentate,  for  there  ye  will 
no  longer  eat  the  flesh  of  bulls  nor  drink  the  blood 
o'  goats,  but  we  shall  sook  the  juicy  pear  and 
scoop  the  loocious  meelon.  Amen.' 

"  He  hes  nae  mair  sense  o'  humour  than  an  owl, 
and  a'  aye  haud  that  a  man  withoot  humour  sudna 
be  allowed  intae  a  poopit. 

"  A*  hear  that  they  have  nae  examination  in 
humour  at  the  college  ;  it's  an  awfu'  want,  for  it 
wud  keep  oot  mony  a  dreich  body. 

"  But  the  meelon's  naethin'  tae  the  goat,  that 
cowed  a'thing,  at  the  Fast  tae. 

"  If  Jeems  wes  aboot  a' daurna  mention  't:  he 
canna  behave  himsel'  tae  this  day  gin  he  hears  o' 
it,  though  ye  ken  he's  a  douce  man  as  ever  lived. 

"  It  wes  anither  feenish,  and  it  ran  this  wy : 

"  *  Noo,  ma  freends,  a'  wull  no  be  keepin'ye  ony 
longer,  and  ye'ill  a'  gae  hame  tae  yir  ain  hooses 
and  mind  yir  ain  business.  And  as  sune  as  ye  get 
hame  ilka  man  'ill  gae  tae  his  closet  and  shut  the 
door,  and  stand  for  five  meenutes,  and  ask  himsel' 
this  solemn  question,  "Am  I  a  goat  ?  "  Amen.' 

"  The  amen  near  upset  me  masel',  and  a'  hed  tae 
dunge  Jeems  wi*  ma  elbow. 

"  He  said  no  a  word  on  the  wy  back,  but  a'  saw 
it  wes  barmin'  in  him,  and  he  gied  oot  sudden 
aifter  his  dinner  as  if  he  had  been  ta'en  unweel. 


OUR  SERMON   TASTER.  145 

"  A' cam' on  him  in  the  byre,  rowing  in  the  strae 
like  a  bairn,  and  every  ither  row  he  took  he  wud 
say,  '  Am  I  a  goat  ?  ' 

"  It  wes  na  cannie  for  a  man  o'  his  wecht,  be- 
sides bein'  a  married  man  and  a  kirk  member,  and 
a*  gied  him  a  hearin'. 

"  He  sobered  doon,  and  a*  never  saw  him  dae 
the  like  since.  But  he  hesna  forgot,  na,  na;  a've 
seen  a  look  come  ower  Jeems'  face  in  kirk,  and  a've 
been  feared." 

When  the  Free  Kirk  quarrelled  in  their  vacancy 
over  two  probationers,  Mrs.  MacFadyen  summed 
them  up  with  such  excellent  judgment  that  they 
were  thrown  over  and  peace  restored. 

"  There's  some  o'  thae  Muirtown  drapers  can 
busk  oot  their  windows  that  ye  canna  pass  withoot 
lookin' ;  there's  bits  o'  blue  and  bits  o'  red,  and  a 
ribbon  here  an'  a  lace  yonder. 

"  It's  a  bonnie  show  and  denty,  an*  no  wunner 
the  lassies  stan'  and  stare. 

"  But  gae  intae  the  shop,  and  peety  me,  there's 
next  tae  naethin' ;  it's  a'  in  the  window. 

"  Noo,  that's  Maister  Popinjay,  as  neat  an' 
fikey  a  little  mannie  as  ever  a'  saw  in  a  black 
goon. 

"  His  bit  sermon  wes  six  poems — five  a*  hed 
heard  afore — four  anecdotes — three  aboot  himsel' 
and  ain  aboot  a  lord — twa  burnies,  ae  floo'r  gair- 
den,  and  a  snowstorm,  wi'  the  text  thirteen  times 
and  'beloved  '  twal :  that  was  a' ;  a  takin'  win- 
dow, and  Netherton's  lassies  cudna  sleep  thinkin* 
o'  him. 

"  There's  ither  shopmen  in  Muirtown  that  fair 
scunner  ye  wi'  their  windows — they're  that  ill  set 
out — and  inside  there's  sic  a  wale  o'  stuff  that  the 


146  A    WISE   WOMAN. 

man  canna  get  what  ye  want ;  he's  clean  smoored 
wi'  his  ain  goods. 

"  It's  a  graund  shop  for  the  old  fouk  that  hae 
plenty  o'  time  and  can  turn  ower  the  things  by  the 
oor.  Ye'ill  no  get  a  young  body  inside  the  door. 

"  That's  Maister  Auchtermuchty  ;  he  hes  mair 
material  than  he  kens  hoo  tae  handle,  and  naebody, 
hearin'  him,  can  mak  head  or  tail  o'  his  sermon. 

"  Ye  get  a  rive  at  the  Covenants  ae  meenut, 
an'  a  mouthfu'  o'  justification  the  next.  Yir  nae 
suner  wi'  the  Patriarchs  than  yir  whuppit  aff  tae 
the  Apostles. 

"  It's  rich  feedin',  nae  doot,  but  sair  mixed  an* 
no  verra  tasty." 

So  the  old  and  young  compromised,  and  chose 
Carmichael. 

Elspeth  was  candid  enough  on  occasion,  but  she 
was  not  indiscreet.  She  could  convey  her  mind 
delicately  if  need  be,  and  was  a  mistress  of  subtle 
suggestion. 

When  Netherton's  nephew  preached  the  mis- 
sionary sermon — he  was  a  stout  young  man  with 
a  volcanic  voice — Mrs.  Macfadyen  could  not  shirk 
her  duty,  but  she  gave  her  judgment  with  care. 

"  He's  a  fine  lad,  and  'ill  be  sure  to  get  a  kirk ; 
he's  been  weel  brocht  up,  and  comes  o'  decent 
fouk. 

"  His  doctrine  soonds  richt,  and  he'ill  no  gang 
aff  the  track.  Ye  canna  ca'  him  bashfu',  and  he's 
sure  to  be  heard." 

Her  audience  still  waited,  and  not  in  vain. 

"  But  the  Lord  hes  nae  pleesure  in  the  legs 
o'  a  man,"  and  every  one  felt  that  the  last  word 
had  been  said  on  Netherton's  nephew. 


II. 

THE  COLLAPSE  OF  MRS.  MACFADYEN. 

CARMICHAEL  used  to  lament  bitterly  that  he 
had  lost  his  Gaelic,  and  laboured  plans  of  com- 
pensation for  our  Celts,  who  were  understood  to 
worship  in  English  at  an  immense  reduction  of 
profit.  One  spring  he  intercepted  a  Highland 
minister,  who  was  returning  from  his  winter's  raid 
on  Glasgow  with  great  spoil,  and  arranged  an 
evening  service,  which  might  carry  Lachlan  Camp- 
bell back  to  the  golden  days  of  Auchindarroch. 
Mr.  Dugald  Mactavish  was  himself  much  im- 
pressed with  the  opportunity  of  refreshing  his 
exiled  brethren,  speaking  freely  on  the  Saturday 
of  the  Lowlands  as  Babylon,  and  the  duty  of 
gathering  the  outcasts  of  Israel  into  one.  He  was 
weaned  with  difficulty  from  Gaelic,  and  only  con- 
sented to  preach  in  the  "  other  language  "  on  con- 
dition that  he  should  not  be  restricted  in  time. 
His  soul  had  been  much  hampered  in  West  End 
churches,  where  he  had  to  appeal  for  his  new 
stove  under  the  first  head,  lest  he  should  go  empty 
away;  and  it  was  natural  for  one  escaping  from 
such  bondage  to  put  a  generous  interpretation 
on  Carmichael's  concession.  So  Maister  Dugald 
continued  unto  the  setting  of  the  sun.  His  dis- 
course was  so  rich  and  varied  that  Pedclie  of  Muir- 
town  on  original  sin  was  not  to  be  compared  with 


148  A    WISE   WOMAN. 

it  in  breadth  of  treatment,  and  Mrs.  Macfadyen 
confessed  frankly  that  she  gave  up  in  despair  before 
the  preacher  had  fairly  entered  on  his  second  hour. 
Besides  the  encounter  of  the  preacher  with  Mr. 
Urijah  Hopps,  which  carried  the  Glen  by  storm, 
and  kept  the  name  of  Mactavish  green  with  us 
for  a  generation. 

Rumours  of  this  monumental  pulpit  effort,  with 
its  stirring  circumstances,  passed  from  end  to  end 
of  the  Glen  during  the  week,  and  Peter  himself 
recognised  that  it  was  an  occasion  at  the  Junction 
on  Friday. 

"  Ye  may  as  weel  shut  aff  the  steam,  Jeems," 
Peter  explained  to  our  engine-driver,  "an*  gie 
them  ten  meenuts.  It's  been  by  ordinar'  at 
Drumtochty  Free  Kirk  laist  Sabbath  nicht,  and 
Drumsheugh  'ill  no  move  till  he  hears  the  end  o't." 

And  as  soon  as  the  Muirtown  train  had  removed 
all  strangers,  that  worthy  man  opened  the  campaign. 

"What  kin'  o'  collieshangie  [disturbance]  is 
this  ye've  been  carryin'  on,  Hillocks?  It's  doon- 
richt  aggravatin'  that  ye're  no  content  pesterin' 
oor  life  oot  wi'  that  English  body  in  the  kirkyaird, 
but  ye  maist  needs  set  him  up  tae  arglebargle 
wi'  a  stranger  minister  at  the  Free  Kirk.  They 
say  that  the  puir  man  cud  hardly  get  a  word  in 
atween  you  and  yir  lodger.  Burnbrae  here  is 
threatenin'  ye  wi'  the  Sherra,  and  a*  dinna  wonder. 

"  It's  nae  lauchin'  maitter,  a'  can  tell  ye, 
Drumsheugh ;  a've  never  been  sae  black  affrontit 
a'  ma  life.  Burnbrae  kens  as  weel  as  ye  dae  that 
a'  wasna  tae  blame. 

"  Ye'ill  better  clear  yersel'  at  ony  rate,  Hil- 
locks, for  some  o'  the  neeburs  threep  [insist]  'at 
it  wes  you,  and  some  that  it  wes  yir  freend,  an* 


THE  COLLAPSE  OF  MRS.  MACFADYEN.     149 

there's  ithers  declare  ye  ran  in  compt  [company] 
like  twa  dogs  worrying  sheep  ;  it  wes  a  bonnie 
like  pliskie  [escapade]  onywy,  and  hardly  fit  for  an 
Auld  Kirk  elder" — a  sally  much  enjoyed  by  the 
audience,  who  knew  that,  after  Whinnie,  Hillocks 
was  the  doucest  man  in  Drumtochty. 

"  Weel,  ye  see  it  wes  this  wy,"  began  Hillocks, 
with  the  air  of  a  man  on  his  trial  for  fire  raising  : 
"  Hopps  fund  oot  that  a  Hielandman  wes  tae  preach 
in  the  Free  Kirk,  and  naethin'  wud  sateesfy  him 
but  that  we  maun  gae.  A'  micht  hae  jaloused 
[suspected]  it  wesna  the  sermon  the  wratch  wantit, 
for  he  hed  the  impidence  tae  complain  that  the 
Doctor  was  tedious  Sabbath  a  fortnicht  when  he 
gied  us  '  Ruth,'  though  I  never  minded  '  Ruth  'gae 
aff  sae  sweet  a'  the  times  a've  heard  it. 

"  Gin  a'  hed  imagined  what  the  ettercap  [captious 
creature]  wes  aifter  a'  wud  hae  seen  ma  feet  in  the 
fire  afore  they  carried  me  tae  the  Free  Kirk  that 
nicht. 

"  Says  he  tae  me  on  the  road,  '  A'm  told  the 
minister  will  be  in  his  national  costume." 

" '  He'ill  be  in  his  goon  and  band,'  says  I, '  if 
that's  what  ye  mean,'  for  the  head  o'  him  is  fu'  o 
maggots  and  nae  man  can  tell  what  he  wull  be  at 
next. 

" '  Mister  Soutar  said  that  he  would  wear  his 
kilt,  and  that  it  would  be  an  interesting  spectacle.' 

"  '  Jamie's  been  drawing  yir  leg  [befooling  you]/ 
says  I.  '  Man,  there's  naebody  wears  a  kilt  forbye 
gemkeepers  and  tourist  bodies.  Ye'ill  better  come 
awa'  hame,'  and  sail,  if  a'  hed  kent  what  wes  tae 
happen,  a'  wud  hae  taken  him  aff  below  ma  oxter. 

"  It's  no  richt  tae  mak  me  responsible,  for  a* 
tried  tae  wile  him  awa  tae  the  back  o'  the  kirk 


ISO  A    WISE   WOMAN. 

whar  naebody  cud  see  him,  but  he's  that  thravvn 
and  upsettin',  if  he  didna  gae  tae  the  verra  front 
seat  afore  the  poopit. 

"  '  I  want  a  good  position,"  says  he  ;  '  I'll  see 
everything  here ; '  sae  a'  left  him  an'  gied  tae 
Elspeth  Macfadyen's  seat. 

" '  He's  anxious  tae  hear/  she  said,  '  an'  a'm 
thinkin'  he'ill  get  mair  than  he  expecks.  A'  wish 
it  wes  weel  ow.er  masel',  Hillocks  ;  it'ill  be  an  awfu' 
nicht.' 

"  Thae  Hielandmen  dinna  pit  aff  time  wi'  the 
preleeminaries,  but  they  were  lang  eneuch  tae  let 
onybody  see  what  kin'  o'  man  Mactavish  wes. 

"  A  gruesome  carle,  neeburs,  wi'  his  hair  hangin' 
roond  his  face  like  a  warlock  and  his  een  blazin' 
oot  o'  his  head  like  fire ;  the  sicht  o'  him  is  sure 
tae  sober  Hopps,  thinks  I. 

"  But  no,  there's  some  fouk  'ill  tak  nae  warnin' ; 
there  he  was,  sittin'  in  front  o'  Mactavish  with  his 
thumbs  in  his  airm-holes,  and  a  watch  gaird  spread 
richt  across  him,  and  ae  leg  cocked  over  the  ither, 
the  verra  eemage  of  a  bantam  cock  fleein'  in  the 
face  o'  judgment." 

Drumtochty  had  never  moved  during  this  his- 
tory, and  now  they  drew  closer  round  Hillocks,  on 
whom  the  mantle  of  speech  had  for  once  descended. 

"  Mactavish  lookit  at  the  body  aince,  and  he 
lookit  again,  juist  tae  gie  him  fair  notis,  and  then 
he  broke  oot  in  face  o'  the  hale  congregation  ; 

"'  There's  nothing  in  all  the  world  so  deceptive 
as  sin,  for  outside  it's  like  a  bonnie  summer  day, 
and  inside  it's  as  black  as  hell. 

"  '  Now  here  iss  this  fat  little  man  sittin'  before 
me  with  his  suit  o'  blue  clothes  so  bonnie  and 
dainty,  and  a  watch  guard  as  thick  as  my  finger 


THE  COLLAPSE  OF  MRS.  MACFADYEN.     15 1 

on  his  wame,  smilin'  an'  smirkin',  and  real  well 
contented  with  himself,  but  if  he  wass  opened  up 
what  a  sight  it  would  be  for  men  and  angels.  Oh 
yes,  yes  !  it  would  be  a  fearsome  sicht,  and  no  man 
here  would  be  able  to  look/ 

"  A'  tell  ye,  neeburs,  ye  micht  hae  heard  a  pin 
fa'  tae  the  ground,  and  ma  heart  was  thumping  in 
ma  briest ;  a'  wudna  come  thro'  the  like  o'  yon 
again  for  half  the  pleenishin'  o'  Hillocks." 

There  was  not  a  sound  at  the  junction  save  the 
steam  escaping  from  the  engine,  and  Hillocks  re- 
sumed : 

"  But  the  worst's  comin'.  Hopps  jumps  up  and 
faces  Mactavish— a'll  no  deny  there  is  some  spunk 
in  the  body. 

" '  What  right  have  you  to  speak  like  that  to 
me  ?  Do  you  know  who  I  am  ?  ' 

"  He  hed  better  been  quiet,  for  he  wes  nae  match 
for  yon  Hielandman. 

"  Mactavish  glowered  at  him  for  maybe  a  mee- 
nut  till  the  puir  cratur  fell  back  intae  his  seat. 

"  '  Man/  says  Mactavish,  '  I  do  not  know  who 
you  are,  and  I  do  not  know  what  you  are,  and  I 
shall  not  be  asking  who  you  are,  and  I  am  not  car- 
ing though  you  be  MacCallummore  himsel'.  You 
are  just  a  parable ;  oh,  yes !  just  a  parable. 

" '  But  if  ye  be  convicted  of  secret  sin  ye  may 
go  out,  and  if  there  be  anybody  else  whose  sins 
have  been  laid  bare  he  may  go  out  too,  and  if  no- 
body wants  to  go  out,  then  I  will  be  going  on  with 
the  sermon,  oh,  yes  !  for  it  will  not  do  to  be  spend- 
ing all  our  time  on  parables/ 

"  As  sure  as  a'm  stannin'  here  ye  cudna  see 
Hopps  inside  his  claithes  when  Mactavish  wes 
dune  wi'  him." 


152  A    WISE    WOMAN. 

When  the  train  started  Hillocks  received  the 
compliments  of  the  third  with  much  modesty,  and 
added  piquant  details  regarding  the  utter  confusion 
of  our  sermon  taster. 

"  '  Did  ye  follow  ?  '  a'  speirit  o'  Elspeth  afore  a' 
went  tae  pit  Hopps  thegither. 

"  '  Cud  a'  follow  a  bumbee  ?  '  was  the  only  word 
a'  got  frae  her ;  a'  saw  she  was  beaten  for  aince 
and  wes  rael  mad." 

"  Is't  true  Elspeth  scuffled  wi'  her  feet  at  the 
laist  head  and  gar'd  him  close  ?  " 

"  A'll  neither  deny  nor  affirm,  Drumsheugh ;  but 
there's  nae  doot  when  the  mune  began  tae  shine 
aboot  nine,  and  Mactavish  started  aff  on  the  Devil, 
somebody  scrapit  aside  me.  It  wesna  Jeems ;  he 
daurna  for  his  life  ;  and  it  wesna  me.  A'll  no  say 
but  it  micht  be  Elspeth,  but  she  was  sair  provokit. 
Aifter  haddin'  her  ain  twenty  years,  tae  be  maistered 
by  a  Hielandman  !  " 

It  was  simply  a  duty  of  friendship  to  look  in  and 
express  one's  sympathy  with  Mrs.  Macfadyen  in 
this  professional  disaster.  I  found  her  quite  will- 
ing to  go  over  the  circumstances,  which  were  un- 
exampled in  her  experience,  and  may  indeed  be 
considered  a  contribution  to  history. 

"  A'  wudna  hae  minded,"  explained  Elspeth, 
settling  down  to  narrative,  "  hoo  mony  heads  he 
gied  oot,  no  tho'  he  hed  titched  the  hundred.  A've 
cause  tae  be  gratefu'  for  a  guid  memory,  and  a've 
kept  it  in  fine  fettle  wi'  sermons.  My  wy  is  tae 
place  ilka  head  at  the  end  o'  a  shelf  and  a'  the 
pints  aifter  it  in  order  like  the  plates  there,"  and 
Mrs.  Macfadyen  pointed  with  honest  pride  to  her 
wall  of  crockery,  "  and  when  the  minister  is  at  an 
illustration  or  makin'  an  appeal  a'  aye  rin  ower  the 


THE   COLLAPSE  OF  MRS.  MACFADYEN.    153 

rack  tae  see  that  a've  a'  the  pints  in  their  places. 
Maister  Mactavish  cud  ne'er  hae  got  the  wheep- 
hand  o'  me  wif  his  diveesions ;  he's  no  fit  to  haud 
the  can'le  tae  John  Peddie.  Na,  na ;  a'  wesna 
feared  o'  that  when  a'  examined  yon  man  gieing 
oot  the  Psalm,  but  a'  didna  like  his  een. 

"  *  He's  ravelled,'  a'  said  tae  masel,  '  without 
beginning  or  end  ;  we'ill  hae  a  nicht  o't,'  and  sae 
we  hed." 

I  preserved  a  sympathetic  silence  till  Mrs.  Mac- 
fadyen  felt  herself  able  to  proceed. 

"  It's  easy  eneuch,  ye  see,  for  an  auld  hand  tae 
manage  ae  set  o'  heads  gin  they  come  tae  ten  or  a 
hundred,  but  it's  another  business  when  a  mat  hes 
different  sets  in  ae  sermon.  Noo,  hoo  mony  sets 
div  ye  think  that  man  hed  afore  he  wes  dune  ?  " 

It  was  vain  for  a  mere  layman  to  cope  with  the 
possibilities  of  Mr.  Mactavish. 

"  Fower,  as  a'm  a  leevin'  woman,  and  that's  no 
a';  he  didna  feenish  wi'  ae  set  an'  begin  wi'  the 
next,  but  if  he  didna  mix  them  a'  thegither ! 
Fower  set  o'  heads,  a'  in  a  tangle ;  noo  ye  hae 
some  kin'  o'  idee  o'  what  a'  hed  tae  face."  And 
Mrs.  Macfadyen  paused  that  I  might  take  in  the 
situation. 

When  I  expressed  my  conviction  that  even  the 
most  experienced  hearer  was  helpless  in  such  cir- 
cumstances, Elspeth  rallied,  and  gave  me  to  under- 
stand that  she  had  saved  some  fragments  from  the 
wreckage. 

"  A'll  juist  tell  ye  the  hale  hypothic,  for  sic  a 
discoorse  ye  may  never  hear  a'  the  days  o'  yir 
life. 

"  Ye  ken  thae  Hielandmen  tak  their  texts  for  the 
maist  pairt  frae  the  Auld  Testament,  and  this  was 


154  A    WISE   WOMAN. 

it  mair  or  less,  '  The  trumpet  shall  be  blown,  and 
they  shall  come  from  Assyria  and  the  land  o' 
Egypt/  and  he  began  by  explainin'  that  there 
were  twa  classes  in  Drumtochty — those  who  were 
born  and  bred  in  the  parish,  which  were  oursels', 
and  them  'at  hed  tae  stay  here  owin'  tae  the 
mysterious  dispensation  of  Providence,  which  wes 
Lachlan  Campbell. 

"  Noo  this  roosed  ma  suspicions,  for  it's  against 
reason  for  a  man  tae  be  dividing  intae  classes  till 
the  end  o'  his  sermon.  Tak  my  word,  it's  no 
chancy  when  a  minister  begins  at  the  tail  o'  his 
subject :  he'll  wind  a  queer  pirn  afore  he's  dune." 

"  Weel,  he  gaed  up  and  he  gaed  doon,  and 
he  aye  said,  'Oh,  yes,  yes! '  juist  like  the  thrash- 
ing mill  at  Drumsheugh  scraiking  and  girling 
till  it's  fairly  aff,  an'  by  and  by  oot  he  comes  wi' 
his  heads. 

"  '  There  are  fower  trumpets,'  says  he.  '  First, 
a  leeteral  trumpet ;  second,  a  heestorical  trumpet ; 
third,  a  metaphorical  trumpet ;  fourth,  a  speeritual 
trumpet.' 

" '  I've  got  ye,'  a'  said  tae  masel,  and  settled 
doon  to  hear  him  on  the  first  head,  for  fear  he 
micht  hae  pints;  but  wull  ye  believe  me,  he 
barely  mentioned  leeteral  till  he  was  aff  tae 
speeritual,  and  then  back  tae  heestorical,  an'  in 
five  minutes  he  had  the  hale  fower  trumpets 
blawing  thegither. 

"It  was  maist  exasperatin',  and  a*  saw  Jeems 
watchin'  me — but  that's  naethin'. 

"  '  There  be  many  trumpets,'  says  he,  *  oh,  yesr 
an'  it  wes  a  good  trumpet  Zaccheus  heard,'  and 
afore  a'  knew  where  a'  wes  he  hed  startit  again  \vi' 
fower  new  heads,  as  if  he  had  never  said  trumpet. 


THE  COLLAPSE  OF  MRS.   MACFADYEN.     155 

" '  A  big  tree,'  he  cries,  *  an'  a  little  man,  oh, 
yes !  an'  this  is  what  we  will  be  doin'. 

" '  First.  We  shall  go  up  the  tree  wi'  Zac- 
cheus. 

"  Second.  We  shall  sit  in  the  branches  wi' 
Zaccheus. 

"  '  Third.  We  shall  come  down  from  the  tree 
wi'  Zaccheus  ;  and  if  time  permits, 

"  '  Fourth.  We  shall  be  going  home  wi'  the 
publican.' " 

It  seemed  only  just  to  pay  a  tribute  at  this  point 
to  the  wonderful  presence  of  mind  Mrs.  Macfadyen 
had  shown  amid  unparalleled  difficulties. 

"  Hoot  awa,"  she  responded  ;  "  the  meenut  ony 
heads  cam'  a'  knew  ma  grund  ;  but  the  times 
atween  I  wes  fairly  lost. 

"  A'll  no  deny,"  and  our  critic  turned  aside  to 
general  reflections,  "  that  Mactavish  said  mony 
bonnie  and  affeckin'  things  frae  time  tae  time, 
like  the  glimpses  o'  the  hills  ye  get  when  the  mist 
rolls  awa,  and  he  cam'  nearer  the  hert  than  the 
feck  o'  oor  preachers  ,  but  certes  yon  confusion 
is  mair  than  us  low-country  fouk  cud  stand. 

"  Juist  when  he  wes  speakin'  aboot  Zaccheus  as 
nice  as  ye  please— though  whether  he  was  up  the 
tree  or  doon  the  tree  a'  cudna  for  the  life  o'  me 
tell — he  stops  sudden  and  looks  at  us  ower  the  top 
o'  his  spectacles,  which  is  terrible  impressive,  and 
near  dis  instead  o'  speakin'. 

" '  We  will  now  come  to  the  third  head  of  this 
discoorse. 

"  '  The  trumpet  shall  be  blown,  for,'  says  he,  in 
a  kin'  o'  whisper,  '  there's  a  hint  o'  oppeesition 
here,'  an'  a'  tell  ye  honestly  a'  lost  hert  a'thegither, 
for  here  he  wes  back  again  amang  the  trumpets. 


I$6  A    WISE   WOMAN. 

and  a'll  gie  ma  aith  he  never  sae  much  as  men- 
tioned that  head  afore. 

"  It's  an  awfu'  peety  that  some  men  dinna  ken 
when  tae  stop  ;  they  micht  see  frae  the  poopit ;  if 
a'  saw  the  tears  comin'  tae  the  women's  een,  or 
the  men  glowering  like  wild  cats  for  fear  they  sud 
brak  doon,  a'd  say  Amen  as  quick  as  Pittendreigh 
aifter  his  goat. 

"  What  possessed  Maister  Dugald,  as  Lachlan 
ca'd  him,  a'  dinna  ken,  but  aboot  half  nine — an* 
he  begood  at  six — he  set  oot  upon  the  trumpets 
again,  an'  when  he  cudna  get  a  haud  o'  them,  he 
says : 

"  '  It  will  be  getting  dark'  (the  mune  was  fairly 
oot),  '  an'  it  is  time  we  were  considering  our  last 
head. 

"  '  We  will  now  study  Satan  in  all  his  offices  and 
characteristics.' 

"  A'  see  they've  been  telling  ye  what  happened,1* 
and  confusion  covered  Mrs.  Macfadyen's  ingenuous 
countenance. 

"  Weel,  as  sure's  deith  a'  cudna  help  it ;  tae  be 
sittin'  on  peens  for  mair  than  twa  oors  trym*  tae 
get  a  grup  o'  a  man's  heads,  an'  him  tae  play  hide- 
and-seek  wi'  ye,  an'  then  tae  begin  on  S^can  at 
nine  o'clock  is  mair  nor  flesh  and  blood  could 
endure. 

"  A'  acknowledge  a'  scrapit,  but  a'  houp  tae 
gudeness  a'll  never  be  tempted  like  yon  again. 

"  It's  a  judgment  on  me  for  ma  pride,  an  Jeems 
said  that  tae  me,  for  a'  boastit  a'  cudna  i^e  beat, 
but  anither  oor  o'  Mactavish  wud  ha'  driven  me 
dottie  [sillyj." 

Then  I  understood  that  Mrs.  Macfadyen  had 
been  humbled  in  the  dust. 


A  DOCTOR  OF  THE  OLD 
SCHOOL. 


A  GENERAL   PRACTITIONER. 

DRUMTOCHTY  was  accustomed  to  break  every 
law  of  health,  except  wholesome  f9od  and  fresh 
air,  and  yet  had  reduced  the  Psalmist's  farthest 
limit  to  an  average  life-rate.  Our  men  made  no 
difference  in  their  clothes  for  summer  or  winter, 
Drumsheugh  and  one  or  two  of  the  larger  farmers 
condescending  to  a  topcoat  on  Sabbath,  as  a 
penalty  of  their  position,  and  without  regard  to 
temperature.  They  wore  their  blacks  at  a  funeral, 
refusing  to  cover  them  with  anything,  out  of 
respect  to  the  deceased,  and  standing  longest  in 
the  kirkyard  when  the  north  wind  was  blowing 
across  a  hundred  miles  of  snow.  If  the  rain  was 
pouring  at  the  Junction,  then  Drumtochty  stood 
two  minutes  longer  through  sheer  native  dourness 
till  each  man  had  a  cascade  from  the  tail  of  his 
coat,  and  hazarded  the  suggestion,  halfway  to 
Kildrummie,  that  it  had  been  "  a  bit  scrowie,"  a 
"  scrowie  "  being  as  far  short  of  a  "  shoor  "  as  a 
shoor  "  fell  below  "  vveet." 

This  sustained   defiance  of  the   elements   pro- 


I5S  A  DOCTOR  OF  THE  OLD  SCHOOL. 

voked  occasional  judgments  in  the  shape  of  a 
"  hoast  "  (cough),  and  the  head  of  the  house  was 
then  exhorted  by  his  women  folk  to  "  change  his 
feet  "  if  he  had  happened  to  walk  through  a  burn 
on  his  way  home,  and  was  pestered  generally  with 
sanitary  precautions.  It  is  right  to  add  that  the 
gudeman  treated  such  advice  with  contempt,  re- 
garding it  as  suitable  for  the  effeminacy  of  towns, 
but  not  seriously  intended  for  Drumtochty.  Sandy 
Stewart  "  napped  "  stones  on  the  road  in  his  shirt 
sleeves,  wet  or  fair,  summer  and  winter,  till  he  was 
persuaded  to  retire  from  active  duty  at  eighty-five, 
and  he  spent  ten  years  more  in  regretting  his 
hastiness  and  criticising  his  successor.  The  ordi- 
nary course  of  life,  with  fine  air  and  contented 
minds,  was  to  do  a  full  share  of  work  till  seventy, 
and  then  to  look  after  "  orra  "  jobs  well  into  the 
eighties,  and  to  "  slip  awa  "  within  sight  of  ninety. 
Persons  above  ninety  were  understood  to  be  ac- 
quitting themselves  with  credit,  and  assumed  airs 
of  authority,  brushing  aside  the  opinions  of  seventy 
as  immature,  and  confirming  their  conclusions 
with  illustrations  drawn  from  the  end  of  last 
century. 

When  Hillocks'  brother  so  far  forgot  himself  as 
to  "  slip  awa  "  at  sixty,  that  worthy  man  was  scan- 
dalised and  offered  laboured  explanations  at  the 
"beerial." 

"  It's  an  awfu'  business  ony  wy  ye  look  at  it,  an' 
a  sair  trial  tae  us  a'.  A'  never  heard  tell  o'  sic  a 
thing  in  oor  family  afore,  an'  it's  no  easy  accoontin' 
for't. 

"  The  gudewife  was  sayin'  he  vves  never  the 
same  sin'  a  weet  nicht  he  lost  himsel  on  the  muir 
and  slept  below  a  bush  ;  but  that's  neither  here 


A  GENERAL  PRACTITIONER.  I$9 

nor  there.  A'm  thinkin'  he  sappit  his  constitution 
t'nae  twa  years  he  wes  grieve  aboot  England. 
That  wes  thirty  years  syne,  but  ye're  never  the 
same  aifter  thae  foreign  climates." 

Drumtochty  listened  patiently  to  Hillocks'  apo- 
logia, but  was  not  satisfied. 

"  It's  clean  havers  aboot  the  muir.  Losh  keep's, 
we've  a'  sleepit  oot  and  never  been  a  hair  the 
waur. 

"  A'  admit  that  England  micht  hae  dune  the 
job  ;  it's  no  cannie  stravagin'  yon  wy  frae  place  tae 
place,  but  Drums  never  complained  tae  me  as  if  he 
heel  been  nippit  in  the  Sooth." 

The  parish  had,  in  fact,  lost  confidence  in  Drums 
after  his  wayward  experiment  with  a  potato-digging 
machine,  which  turned  out  a  lamentable  failure, 
and  his  premature  departure  confirmed  our  vague 
impression  of  his  character. 

"  He's  awa  noo,"  Drumsheugh  summed  up,  after 
opinion  had  time  to  form ;  "  an*  there  were  waur 
fouk  than  Drums,  but  there's  nae  doot  he  wes  a 
wee  flichty." 

When  illness  had  the  audacity  to  attack  a  Drum- 
tochty man,  it  was  described  as  a  "  whup,"  and 
was  treated  by  the  men  with  a  fine  negligence. 
Hillocks  was  sitting  in  the  Post  Office  one  after- 
noon when  I  looked  in  for  my  letters,  and  the  right 
side  of  his  face  was  blazing  red.  His  subject  of 
discourse  was  the  prospects  of  the  turnip  "  breer," 
but  he  casually  explained  that  he  was  waiting  for 
medical  advice. 

"The  gudewife  is  keepin'  up  a  ding-dong  frae 
mornin'  till  nicht  aboot  ma  face,  and  a'm  fair 
deaved  [deafened],  so  a'm  watchin'  for  MacLure 
tae  get  a  bottle  as  he  comes  wast ;  yon's  him  noo." 


l6o  A  DOCTOR  OF  THE  OLD  SCHOOL. 

The  doctor  made  his  diagnosis  from  horseback 
on  sight,  and  stated  the  result  with  that  admirable 
clearness  which  endeared  him  to  Drumtochty. 

"  Confoond  ye,  Hillocks,  what  are  ye  ploiterin' 
aboot  here  for  in  the  weet  wi'  a  face  like  a  boiled 
beet  ?  Div  ye  no  ken  that  yeVe  a  tetch  o'  the 
rose  [erysipelas],  and  ocht  tae  be  in  the  hoose  ? 
Gae  hame  wi'  ye  afore  a'  leave  the  bit,  and  send 
a  hafli.n  for  some  medicine.  Ye  donnerd  idiot,  are 
ye  ettlin  tae  follow  Drums  afore  yir  time  ?  "  And 
the  medical  attendant  of  Drumtochty  continued 
his  invective  till  Hillocks  started,  and  still  pursued 
his  retreating  figure  with  medical  directions  of 
a  simple  and  practical  character. 

"  A'm  watchin',  an'  peety  ye  if  ye  pit  aff  time. 
Keep  yir  bed  the  mornin',  and  dinna  show  yir  face 
in  the  fields  till  a'  see  ye.  A'll  gie  ye  a  cry  on 
Monday — sic  an  auld  fule — but  there's  no  ane 
o'  them  tae  mind  anither  in  the  hale  pairish." 

Hillocks'  wife  informed  the  kirkyard  that  the 
doctor  "  gied  the  gudeman  an  awfu'  clearin',"  and 
that  Hillocks  "wes  keepin'  the  hoose,"  which 
meant  that  the  patient  had  tea  breakfast,  and  at 
that  time  was  wandering  about  the  farm  buildings 
in  an  easy  undress  with  his  head  in  a  plaid. 

It  was  impossible  for  a  doctor  to  earn  even  the 
most  modest  competence  from  a  people  of  such 
scandalous  health,  and  so  MacLure  had  annexed 
neighbouring  parishes.  His  house — little  more 
than  a  cottage — stood  on  the  roadside  among  the 
pines  towards  the  head  of  our  Glen,  and  from  this 
base  of  operations  he  dominated  the  wild  glen  that 
broke  the  wall  of  the  Grampians  above  Drum- 
tochty— where  the  snowdrifts  were  twelve  feet 
deep  in  winter,  and  the  only  way  of  passage  at 


A   GENERAL  PRACTITIONER.  l6l 

times  was  the  channel  of  the  river — and  the  moor- 
land district  westwards  till  he  came  to  the  Dun- 
leith  sphere  of  influence,  where  there  were  four 
doctors  and  a  hydropathic.  Drumtochty  in  its 
length,  which  was  eight  miles,  and  its  breadth, 
which  was  four,  lay  in  his  hand  ;  besides  a  glen 
behind,  unknown  to  the  world,  which  in  the  night 
•time  he  visited  at  the  risk  of  life,  for  the^  way 
thereto  was  across  the  big  moor  with  its  peat 
holes  and  treacherous  bogs.  And  he  held  the 
land  eastwards  towards  Muirtown  so  far  as 
Geordie,  the  Drumtochty  post,  travelled  every  day, 
and  could  carry  word  that  the  doctor  was  wanted. 
He  did  his  best  for  the  need  of  every  man,  woman, 
and  child  in  this  wild,  straggling  district,  year  in, 
year  out,  in  the  snow  and  in  the  heat,  in  the  dark 
and  in  the  light,  without  rest,  and  without  holiday 
for  forty  years. 

One  horse  could  not  do  the  work  of  this  man, 
but  we  liked  best  to  see  him  on  his  old  white  mare, 
who  died  the  week  after  her  master,  and  the  pass- 
ing of  the  two  did  our  hearts  good.  It  was  not 
that  he  rode  beautifully,  for  he  broke  every  canon 
of  art,  flying  with  his  arms,  stooping  till  he  seemed 
to  be  speaking  into  Jess's  ears,  and  rising  in  the 
saddle  beyond  all  necessity.  But  he  could  ride 
faster,  stay  longer  in  the  saddle,  and  had  a  firmer 
grip  with  his  knees  than  anyone  I  ever  met,  and 
it  was  all  for  mercy's  sake.  When  the  reapers  in 
harvest  time  saw  a  figure  whirling  past  in  a  cloud 
of  dust,  or  the  family  at  the  foot  of  Glen  Urtach, 
gathered  round  the  fire  on  a  winter's  night,  heard 
the  rattle  of  a  horse's  hoofs  on  the  road,  or  the 
shepherds,  out  after  the  sheep,  traced  a  black  speck 
moving  across  the  snow  to  ths  upper  glen,  they 


C62      A  DOCTOK  OF  THE  OLD  SCHOOL. 

knew  it  was  the  doctor,  and  without  being  con- 
scious of  it,  wished  him  God  speed. 

Before  and  behind  his  saddle  were  strapped  the 
instruments  and  medicines  the  doctor  might  want, 
for  he  never  knew  what  was  before  him.  There 
were  no  specialists  in  Drumtochty,  so  this  man  had 
to  do  everything  as  best  he  could,  and  as  quickly. 
He  was  chest  doctor,  and  doctor  for  every  other 
organ  as  well ;  he  was  accoucheur  and  surgeon  ; 
he  was  oculist  and  aurist ;  he  was  dentist  and 
chloroformist,  besides  being  chemist  and  druggist, 
It  was  often  told  how  he  was  far  up  Glen  Urtach 
when  the  feeders  of  the  threshing  mill  caught 
young  Burnbrae,  and  how  he  only  stopped  to 
change  horses  at  his  house,  and  galloped  all  the 
way  to  Burnbrae,  and  flung  himself  off  his  horse 
and  amputated  the  arm,  and  saved  the  lad's  life. 

"  You  wud  hae  thocht  that  every  meenut  was  an 
hour,"  said  Jamie  Soutar,  who  had  been  at  the 
threshing,  "  an'  a'll  never  forget  the  puir  lad  lying 
as  white  as  deith  on  the  floor  o'  the  loft,  wi'  his 
head  on  a  sheaf,  and  Burnbrae  haudin'  the  band- 
age ticht  an'  prayin'  a1  the  while,  and  the  mither 
greetin'  in  the  corner. 

"  '  Will  he  never  come  ?  '  she  cries,  an'  a'  heard 
the  soond  o'  the  horse's  feet  on  the  road  a  mile 
awa  in  the  frosty  air. 

"  '  The  Lord  be  praised  ! '  said  Burnbrae,  and  a' 
slippit  doon  the  ladder  as  the  doctor  came  skelpin' 
intae  the  close,  the  foam  fleein'  frae  his  horse's 
mooth. 

"  *  Whar  is  he  ?  '  wes  a'  that  passed  his  lips,  an*  in 
five  meenuts  he  hed  him  on  the  feedin'  board,  and 
wes  at  his  wark — sic  wark,  neeburs — but  he  did 
it  weel.  An'  ae  thing  a  thocht  rael  thochtfu'  o* 


A  GENERAL  PRACTITIONER.  I&3 

him ;  he  first  sent  aff  the  laddie's  mither  tae  get  a 
bed  ready. 

" '  Noo  that's  feenished,  and  his  constitution  'ill 
dae  the  rest,'  and  he  carried  the  lad  doon  the  lad- 
der in  his  airms  like  a  bairn,  and  laid  him  in  his 
bed,  and  waits  aside  him  till  he  wes  sleepin',  and 
then  says  he:  '  Burnbrae,  yir  a  gey  lad  never  tae 
say  "  Collie,  will  ye  lick  ?  "  for  a'  hevna  tasted  meat 
for  saxteen  hoors.' 

"  It  was  michty  tae  see  him  come  intae  the 
yaird  that  day,  neeburs ;  the  verra  look  o'  him 
wes  victory." 

Jamie's  cynicism  slipped  off  in  the  enthusiasm  of 
this  reminiscence,  and  he  expressed  the  feeling  of 
Drumtochty.  No  one  sent  for  MacLure  save  in 
great  straits,  and  the  sight  of  him  put  courage  in 
sinking  hearts.  But  this  was  not  by  the  grace  of 
his  appearance,  or  the  advantage  of  a  good  bedside 
manner.  A  tall,  gaunt,  loosely  made  man,  without 
an  ounce  of  superfluous  flesh  on  his  body,  his  face 
burned  a  dark  brick  colour  by  constant  exposure  to 
the  weather,  red  hair  and  beard  turning  gray,  hon- 
est blue  eyes  that  look  you  ever  in  the  face,  huge 
hands  with  wrist  bones  like  the  shank  of  a  ham, 
and  a  voice  that  hurled  his  salutations  across 
two  fields,  he  suggested  the  moor  rather  than  the 
drawing-room.  But  what  a  clever  hand  it  was  in 
an  operation — as  delicate  as  a  woman's!  and  what 
a  kindly  voice  it  was  in  the  humble  room  where 
the  shepherd's  wife  was  weeping  by  her  man's  bed- 
side !  He  was  "  ill  pitten  thegither  "  to  begin  with, 
but  many  of  his  physical  defects  were  the  penalties 
of  his  work,  and  endeared  him  to  the  Glen.  That 
ugly  scar,  that  cut  into  his  right  eyebrow  and  gave 
him  such  a  sinister  expression,  was  got  one  night 


1 64  A  DOCTOR  OF  THE  OLD  SCHOOL. 

Jess  slipped  on  the  ice  and  laid  him  insensible 
eight  miles  from  home.  His  limp  marked  the  big 
snowstorm  in  the  fifties,  when  his  horse  missed  the 
road  in  Glen  Urtach,  and  they  rolled  together  in  a 
drift.  MacLure  escaped  with  a  broken  leg  and  the 
fracture  of  three  ribs,  but  he  never  walked  like 
other  men  again.  He  could  not  swing  himself 
into  the  saddle  withojut  making  two  attempts  and 
holding  Jess's  mane.  Neither  can  you  "  warstle  " 
through  the  peat  bogs  and  snowdrifts  for  forty 
winters  without  a  touch  of  rheumatism.  But  they 
were  honourable  scars,  and  for  such  risks  of  life 
men  get  the  Victoria  Cross  in  other  fields.  Mac- 
Lure  got  nothing  but  the  secret  affection  of  the 
Glen,  which  knew  that  none  had  ever  done  one- 
tenth  as  much  for  it  as  this  ungainly,  twisted, 
battered  figure,  and  I  have  seen  a  Drumtochty 
face  soften  at  the  sight  of  MacLure  limping  to  his 
horse. 

Mr.  Hopps  earned  the  ill-will  of  the  Glen  for- 
ever by  criticising  the  doctor's  dress,  but  indeed  it 
would  have  filled  any  townsman  with  amazement. 
Black  he  wore  once  a  year,  on  Sacrament  Sunday, 
and,  if  possible,  at  a  funeral ;  topcoat  or  waterproof 
never.  His  jacket  and  waistcoat  were  rough  home- 
spun of  Glen  Urtach  wool,  which  threw  off  the  wet 
like  a  duck's  back,  and  below  he  was  clad  in  shep- 
herd's tartan  trousers,  which  disappeared  into  un- 
polished riding  boots.  His  shirt  was  gray  flannel, 
and  he  was  uncertain  about  a  collar,  but  certain  as 
to  a  tie — which  he  never  had,  his  beard  doing  in- 
stead, and  his  hat  was  soft  felt  of  four  colours  and 
seven  different  shapes.  His  point  of  distinction  in 
dress  was  the  trousers,  and  they  were  the  subject 
of  unending  speculation. 


A  GENERAL  PRACTITIONER.  165 

"  Some  threep  that  he's  worn  thae  eedentical 
pair  the  last  twenty  year,  an'  a'  mind  masel'  him 
gettin'  a  tear  ahint,  when  he  was  crossin'  oor 
palin',  and  the  mend's  still  veesible. 

"  Ithers  declare  'at  he's  got  a  wab  o'  claith,  and 
hes  a  new  pair  made  in  Muirtown  aince  in  the  twa 
year  maybe,  and  keeps  them  in  the  garden  till  the 
new  look  wears  aff. 

"  For  ma  ain  pairt,"  Soutar  used  to  declare,  "  a' 
canna  mak  up  my  mind,  but  there's  ae  thing  sure, 
the  Glen  wuclna  like  tae  see  him  withoot  them  : 
it  wud  be  a  shock  tae  confidence.  There's  no 
muckle  o'  the  check  left,  but  ye  can  aye  tell  it,  and 
when  ye  see  thae  breeks  comin'  in  ye  ken  that  if 
human  pooer  can  save  yir  bairn's  life  it  'ill  be 
dune." 

The  confidence  of  the  Glen — and  tributarj 
states — was  unbounded,  and  rested  partly  on  long 
experience  of  the  doctor's  resources,  and  partly  on 
his  hereditary  connection. 

"His  father  was  here  afore  him,"  Mrs.  Mac- 
fadyen  used  to  explain  ;  "  atween  them  they've  hed 
the  countryside  for  weel  on  tae  a  century  ;  if  Mac- 
Lure  disna  understand  oor  constitution,  wha  dis, 
a*  wud  like  tae  ask  ?  " 

For  Drumtochty  had  its  own  constitution  and  a 
special  throat  disease,  as  became  a  parish  which 
was  quite  self-contained  between  the  woods  and 
the  hills,  and  not  dependent  on  the  lowlands  either 
for  its  diseases  or  its  doctors. 

"  He's  a  skilly  man,  Doctor  Maclure,"  continued 
my  friend  Mrs.  Macfadyen,  whose  judgment  on 
sermons  or  anything  else  was  seldom  at  fault ;  "  an* 
a  kind-hearted,  though  o'  coorse  he  hes  his  faults 
like  us  a',  an'  he  disna  tribble  the  Kirk  often. 


166  A   DOCTOR   OF  THE  OLD  SCHOOL. 

"  He  aye  can  tell  what's  wrong  wi'  a  body,  an* 
maistly  he  can  put  ye  richt,  and  there's  nae  new- 
fangled wys  wi'  him  :  a  blister  for  the  ootside  an' 
Epsom  salts  for  the  inside  dis  his  wark,  an'  they 
say  there's  no  an  herb  on  the  hills  he  disna  ken. 

"If  we're  tae  dee,  we're  tae  dee;  an'  if  we're  tae 
live,  we're  tae  live,"  concluded  Elspeth,  with  sound 
Calvinistic  logic ;  "  but  a'll  say  this  for  the  doctor, 
that  whether  yir  tae  live  or  dee,  he  can  aye  keep  up 
a  sharp  meisture  on  the  skin. 

"  But  he's  no  verra  ceevil  gin  ye  bring  him  when 
there's  naethin*  wrang,"  and  Mrs.  Macfadyen's 
face  reflected  another  of  Mr.  Hopps'  misadventures 
of  which  Hillocks  held  the  copyright. 

"  Hopps'  laddie  ate  grosarts  [gooseberries]  till 
they  hed  to  sit  up  a'  nicht  wi'  him,  an'  naethin' 
wud  do  but  they  maun  hae  the  doctor,  an'  he  writes 
'  immediately'  on  a  slip  o'  paper. 

"  Weel,  MacLure  had  been  awa  a'  night  wi'  a 
shepherd's  wife  Dunleith  wy,  and  he  comes  here 
withoot  drawin'  bridle,  mud  up  tae  the  een. 

"  '  What's  adae  here,  Hillocks  ?  "  he  cries  ;  '  it's 
no  an  accident,  is't  ? "  and  when  he  got  aff  his 
horse  he  cud  hardly  stand  wi'  stiffness  and  tire. 

"'It's  nane  o'  us,  doctor;  it's  Hopps'  laddie; 
he's  been  eatin*  ower  mony  berries." 

"  If  he  didna  turn  on  me  like  a  tiger. 

"  '  Div  ye  mean  tae  say ' 

" '  Weesht,  weesht,'  an'  I  tried  tae  quiet  him,  for 
Hopps  wes  coomin'  oot. 

"  '  Well,  doctor,'  begins  he,  as  brisk  as  a  magpie 
'  you're  here  at  last ;  there's  no  hurry  with  you 
Scotchmen.  My  boy  has  been  sick  all  night,  and 
I've  never  had  a  wink  of  sleep.  You  might  have 
come  a  little  quicker,  that's  all  I've  got  to  say.' 


A    GENERAL  PRACTITIONER.  167 

"  '  We've  mair  tae  dae  in  Drumtochty  than 
attend  tae  every  bairn  that  hes  a  sair  stomach/  and 
a'  saw  MacLure  was  roosed. 

"  '  I'm  astonished  to  hear  you  speak.  Our  doc- 
tor at  home  always  says  to  Mrs.  'Opps,  "  Look  on 
me  as  a  family  friend,  Mrs.  'Opps,  and  send  for  me 
though  it  be  only  a  headache."  ' 

" '  He'd  be  mair  spairin'  o'  his  offers  if  he  hed 
four  and  twenty  mile  tae  look  aifter.  There's  nae- 
thin'  wrang  wi'  yir  laddie  but  greed.  Gie  him  a 
gude  dose  o'  castor  oil  and  stop  his  meat  for  a  day, 
an*  he'ill  be  a'  richt  the  morn.' 

"  '  He'ill  not  take  castor  oil,  doctor.  We  have 
given  up  those  barbarous  medicines.' 

" '  Whatna  kind  o'  medicines  hae  ye  noo  in  the 
Sooth  ? ' 

" '  Well,  ypu  see,  Dr.  MacLure,  we're  homce- 
opathists,  and  I've  my  little  chest  here/  and  oot 
Hopps  comes  wi'  his  boxy. 

"  Let's  se't/  an'  MacLure  sits  doon  and  taks  oot 
the  bit  bottles,  and  he  reads  the  names  wi'  a 
lauch  every  time. 

"'Belladonna;  did  ye  ever  hear  the  like? 
Aconite  ;  it  cowes  a'.  Nux  Vomica.  What  next  ? 
Weel,  ma  mannie/  he  says  tae  Hopps,  '  it's  a  fine 
ploy,  and  ye'ill  better  gang  on  wi'  the  Nux  till  it's 
dune,  and  gie  him  ony  ither  o'  the  sweeties  he 
fancies. 

" '  Noo,  Hillocks,  a'  maun  be  aff  tae  see  Drum- 
sheugh's  grieve,  for  he's  doon  wi'  the  fever,  and 
it's  tae  be  a  teuch  fecht.  A'  hinna  time  tae  wait 
for  dinner;  gie  me  some  cheese  an'  cake  in  ma 
haund,  and  Jess  'ill  take  a  pail  o'  meal  an'  water. 

" '  Fee  ;  a'm  no  wantin'  yir  fees,  man ;  wi'  that 
boxy  ye  dinna  need  a  doctor;  na,  na,  gie  yir 


168  A   DOCTOR  OF  THE  OLD  SCHOOL. 

siller  tae  some  puir  body,  Maister  Hopps,'  an 
he  was  doon  the  road  as  hard  as  he  cud  lick." 

His  fees  were  pretty  much  what  the  folk  chose 
to  give  him,  and  he  collected  them  once  a  year  at 
Kiklrummie  fair. 

"Weel,  doctor,  what  am  a*  awin*  ye  for  the 
wife  and  bairn?  Ye'ill  need  three  notes  for 
that  nicht  ye  stayed  in  the  hoose  an*  a*  the 
veesits." 

"  Havers,"  MacLure  would  answer,  "  prices  are 
low,  a'm  hearing ;  gie's  thirty  shillings." 

"No,  a'll  no,  or  the  wife  'ill  tak  ma  ears  off," 
and  it  was  settled  for  two  pounds. 

Lord  Kilspindie  gave  him  a  free  house  and 
fields,  and  one  way  or  other,  Drumsheugh  told 
me,  the  doctor  might  get  in  about  ^150  a  year, 
out  of  which  he  had  to  pay  his  old  housekeeper's 
wages  and  a  boy's,  and  keep  two  horses,  besides 
the  cost  of  instruments  and  books,  which  he 
bought  through  a  friend  in  Edinburgh  with 
much  judgment. 

There  was  only  one  man  who  ever  complained 
of  the  doctor's  charges,  and  that  was  the  new 
farmer  of  Milton,  who  was  so  good  that  he  was 
above  both  churches,  and  held  a  meeting  in  his 
barn.  (It  was  Milton  the  Glen  supposed  at  first 
to  be  a  Mormon,  but  I  can't  go  into  that  now.) 
He  offered  MacLure  a  pound  less  than  he  asked, 
and  two  tracts,  whereupon  MacLure  expressed 
his  opinion  of  Milton,  both  from  a  theological 
and  social  standpoint,  with  such  vigour  and 
frankness  that  an  attentive  audience  of  Drum- 
tochty  men  could  hardly  contain  themselves. 

Jamie  Soutar  was  selling  his  pig  at  the  time, 
and  missed  the  meeting,  but  he  hastened  to 


A    GENERAL  PRACTITIONER.  169 

condole  with  Milton,  who  was  complaining 
everywhere  of  the  doctor's  language. 

"  Ye  did  richt  tae  resist  him  ;  it  'ill  maybe 
roose  the  Glen  tae  mak  a  stand  ;  he  fair  hands 
them  in  bondage. 

li  Thirty  shillings  for  twal  veesits,  and  him  no 
mair  than  seeven  mile  awa,  an'  a'm  telt  there 
werena  mair  than  four  at  nicht. 

"  Ye'ill  hae  the  sympathy  o'  the  Glen,  for  a'- 
body  kens  yir  as  free  wi'  yir  siller  as  yir  tracts. 

"  Wes't  '  Beware  o'  gude  warks*  ye  offered  him  ? 
Man,  ye  chose  it  weel,  for  he's  been  colleckin'  sae 
mony  thae  forty  years,  a'm  feared  for  him. 

"  A've  often  thocht  oor  doctor's  little  better 
than  the  Gude  Samaritan,  an*  the  Pharisees  didna 
think  muckle  o'  his  chance  aither  in  this  warld  or 
that  which  is  tae  come." 


II. 

THROUGH   THE   FLOOD. 

DR..  MACLURE  did  not  lead  a  solemn  proces- 
sion from  the  sick  bed  to  the  dining-room,  and 
give  his  opinion  from  the  hearthrug  with  an  air 
of  wisdom  bordering  on  the  supernatural,  because 
neither  the  Drumtochty  houses  nor  his  manners 
were  on  that  large  scale.  He  was  accustomed  to 
deliver  himself  in  the  yard,  and  to  conclude  his 
directions  with  one  foot  in  the  stirrup ;  but  when 
he  left  the  room  where  the  life  of  Annie  Mitchell 
was  ebbing  slowly  away,  our  doctor  said  not  one 
word,  and  at  the  sight  of  his  face  her  husband's 
heart  was  troubled. 

He  was  a  dull  man,  Tammas,  who  could  not 
read  the  meaning  of  a  sign,  and  laboured  under  a 
perpetual  disability  of  speech  :  but  love  was  eyes  to 
him  that  day,  and  a  mouth. 

"  Is't  as  bad  as  yir  lookin',  doctor  ?  Tell's  the 
truth.  Wull  Annie  no  come  through  ? "  and 
Tammas  looked  MacLure  straight  in  the  face, 
who  never  flinched  his  duty  or  said  smooth  things. 

"  A'  wud  gie  onything  tae  say  Annie  has  a 
chance,  but  a'  daurna ;  a'  doot  yir  gaein'  to  lose 
her,  Tammas." 

MacLure  was  in  the  saddle,  and  as  he  gave  his 
judgment,  he  laid  his  hand  on  Tammas's  shoulder 
with  one  of  the  rare  caresses  that  pass  between 
men. 


THROUGH  THE  FLOOD.  I?I 

"  It's  a  sair  business,  but  ye'ill  play  the  man 
and  no  vex  Annie  ;  she'ill  dae  her  best,  a'll  war- 
rant." 

"  And  a'll  dae  mine,"  and  Tammas  gave  Mac- 
Lure's  hand  a  grip  that  would  have  crushed  the 
bones  of  a  weakling.  Drumtochty  felt  in  such 
moments  the  brotherliness  of  this  rough-looking 
man,  and  loved  him. 

Tammas  hid  his  face  in  Jess's  mane,  who  looked 
round  with  sorrow  in  her  beautiful  eyes,  for  she 
had  seen  many  tragedies,  and  in  this  silent  sym- 
pathy the  stricken  man  drank  his  cup,  drop  by  drop. 

"  A'  wesna  prepared  for  this,  for  a'  aye  thocht 
she  wud  live  the  langest.  .  .  She's  younger  than 
me  by  ten  years,  and  never  was  ill.  .  .  We've 
been  mairit  twal  year  last  Martinmas,  but  its  juist 
like  a  year  the  day.  .  .  A'  wes  never  worthy  o* 
her,  the  bonniest,  snoddest  [neatest],  kindliest  lass 
in  the  Glen.  .  .  A*  never  cud  mak  oot  hoo  she 
ever  lookit  at  me,  'at  hesna  hed  ae  word  tae  say 
aboot  her  till  it's  ower  late.  .  .  She  didna  cuist 
up  to  me  that  a'  wesna  worthy  o'  her,  no  her,  but 
aye  she  said,  '  Yir  ma  ain  gudeman,  and  nane  cud 
be  kinder  tae  me/  .  .  An'  a*  wes  minded  tae  be 
kind,  but  a*  see  noo  mony  little  trokes  a  micht  hae 
dune  for  her,  and  noo  the  time  is  bye.  .  .  Nae- 
bocly  kens  hoo  patient  she  wes  wi'  me,  and  aye 
made  the  best  o'  me,  an'  never  pit  me  tae  shame 
afore  the  fouk.  .  .  An'  we  never  hed  ae  cross 
word,  no  ane  in  twal  year.  .  .  We  were  mair 
nor  man  and  wife — we  were  sweethearts  a'  the 
time.  .  .  Oh,  ma  bonnie  lass,  what  ill  the  bairnies 
an'  me  dae  without  ye,  Annie  ?  " 

The  winter  night  was  falling  fast,  the  snow  lay 
deep  upon  the  ground,  and  the  merciless  north 


172  A   DOCTOR   OF  THE   OLD  SCHOOL. 

wind  moaned  through  the  close  as  Tammas  wres- 
tled with  his  sorrow  dry-eyed,  for  tears  were  denied 
Drumtochty  men.  Neither  the  doctor  nor  Jess 
moved  hand  or  foot,  but  their  hearts  were  with 
their  fellow-creature,  and  at  length  the  doctor 
made  a  sign  to  Marget  Howe,  who  had  come  out 
in  search  of  Tammas,  and  now  stood  by  his  side. 

"  Dinna  mourn  tae  the  brakin'  o'  yir  hert,  Tam- 
mas,'' she  said,  "  as  if  Annie  an'  you  hed  never 
luved.  Neither  death  nor  time  can  pairt  them  that 
luve ;  there's  naethin'  in  a'  the  warld  sae  strong  as 
luve.  If  Annie  gaes  frae  the  sicht  o'  yir  een  she'ill 
come  the  nearer  tae  yir  hert.  She  wants  tae  see 
ye,  and  tae  hear  ye  say  that  ye'ill  never  forget  her 
nicht  nor  day  till  ye  meet  in  the  land  where  there's 
nae  pairtin.'  OhJ  a'  ken  what  a'm  sayin,'  for  it's 
five  year  noo  sin  George  gied  awa,  an'  he's  mair 
wi'  me  noo  than  when  he  wes  in  Edinboro'  and  I 
wes  in  Drumtochty." 

"  Thank  ye  kindly,  Marget ;  thae  are  gude  words 
and  true,  an'  ye  hev  the  richt  tae  say  them  ;  but  a' 
canna  dae  without  seein'  Annie  comin'  tae  meet 
me  in  the  gloamin',  an'  gaein'  in  an'  oot  the  hoose, 
an*  hearin'  her  ca*  me  by  ma  name,  an'  a'll  no  can 
tell  her  that  a'  luve  her  when  there's  nae  Annie  in 
tke  hoose. 

"  Can  naethin'  be  dune,  doctor  ?  Ye  savit  Flora 
Cammil,  and  young  Burnbrae,  an'  yon  shepherd's 
wife  Dunleith  wy,  an*  we  were  a'  sae  prood  o'  ye, 
an*  pleased  tae  think  that  ye  hed  keepit  deith  frae 
anither  hame.  Can  ye  no  think  o'  somethin'  tae 
help  Annie,  and  gie  her  back  tae  her  man  and 
bairnies  ?  "  and  Tammas  searched  the  doctor's  face 
in  the  cold,  weird  light. 

"  There's  nae  pooer  in  heaven  or  airth  like  luve," 


THROUGH  THE  FLOOD.  173 

Marget  said  to  me  afterwards  ;  "  it  maks  the  weak 
strong  and  the  dumb  tae  speak.  Oor  herts  Were 
as  water  afore  Tammas's  words,  an*  a*  saw  the 
doctor  shake  in  his  saddle.  A*  never  kent  till  that 
meenut  hoo  he  hed  a  share  in  a'body's  grief,  an' 
carried  the  heaviest  wecht  o'  a'  the  Glen.  A* 
peetied  him  wi'  Tammas  lookin*  at  him  sae  wist- 
fully, as  if  he  hed  the  keys  o'  life  an*  deith  in  his 
hands.  But  he  wes  honest,  and  wudna  hold  oot  a 
false  houp  tae  deceive  a  sore  hert  or  win  escape  for 
himsel'." 

"  Ye  needna  plead  wi'  me,  Tammas,  to  dae  the 
best  a'  can  for  yir  wife.  Man,  a'  kent  her  lang 
afore  ye  ever  luved  her ;  a'  brocht  her  intae  the 
warld,  and  a'  saw  her  through  the  fever  when  she 
wes  a  bit  lassikie  ;  a'  closed  her  mither's  een,  and 
it  wes  me  hed  tae  tell  her  she  wes  an  orphan,  an* 
nae  man  wes  better  pleased  when  she  got  a  gude 
husband,  and  a'  helpit  her  wi'  her  fower  bairns. 
AVe  naither  wife  nor  bairns  o'  ma'  own,  an'  a' 
coont  a'  the  fouk  o'  the  Glen  ma  family.  Div  ye 
think  a'  wudna  save  Annie  if  I  cud  ?  If  there  wes 
a  man  in  Muirtown  'at  cud  dae  mair  for  her,  a'd 
have  him  this  verra  nicht,  but  a'  the  doctors  in 
Perthshire  are  helpless  for  this  tribble. 

"  Tammas,  ma  puir  fallow,  if  it  could  avail,  a' 
tell  ye  a'  wud  lay  doon  this  auld  worn-oot  ruckle 
o'  a  body  o'  mine  juist  tae  see  ye  baith  sittin'  at 
the  fireside,  an*  the  bairns  roond  ye,  couthy  an* 
canty  again  ;  but  it's  no  tae  be,  Tammas,  it's  no 
tae  be." 

"  When  a'  lookit  at  the  doctor's  face,"  Marget 
said,  "  a'  thocht  him  the  winsomest  man  a'  ever 
saw.  He  wes  transfigured  that  nicht,  for  a'n? 
judging  there's  nae  transfiguration  like  luve," 


174  A    DOCTOR  OF  THE  OLD  SCHOOL. 

"  It's  God's  wull  an'  maun  be  borne,  but  it's  a 
sain  wull  fur  me,  an'  a'm  no  ungratefu'  tae  you, 
doctor,  for  a'  ye've  dune  and  what  ye  said  the 
nicht,"  and  Tammas  went  back  to  sit  with  Annie 
for  the  last  time. 

Jess  picked  her  way  through  the  deep  snow  to 
the  main  road,  with  a  skill  that  came  of  long  ex- 
perience, and  the  doctor  held  converse  with  her 
according  to  his  wont. 

"  Eh,  Jess,  wumman,  yon  wes  the  hardest  wark 
a'  hae  tae  face,  and  a'  wud  raither  hae  ta'en  ma 
chance  o'  anither  row  in  a  Glen  Urtach  drift  than 
tell  Tammas  Mitchell  his  wife  wes  deein'. 

"  A'  said  she  cudna  be  cured,  and  it  wes  true, 
for  there's  juist  ae  man  in  the  land  fit  for't,  and 
they  micht  as  weel  try  tae  get  the  mune  oot  o' 
heaven.  Sae  a'  said  naethin'  tae  vex  Tammas's 
hert,  for  it's  heavy  eneuch  withoot  regrets, 

"  But  it's  hard,  Jess,  that  money  wull  buy  life 
after  a',  an*  if  Annie  wes  a  duchess  her  man 
wudna  lose  her ;  but  bein'  only  a  puir  cottar's 
wife,  she  maun  dee  afore  the  week's  oot. 

"  Gin  we  hed  him  the  morn  there's  little  doot 
she  wud  be  saved,  for  he  hesna  lost  mair  than  five 
per  cent,  o'  his  cases,  and  they'ill  be  puir  toon's 
craturs,  no  strappin'  women  like  Annie. 

"  It's  oot  o'  the  question,  Jess,  sae  hurry  up, 
lass,  for  we've  hed  a  heavy  day.  But  it  wud  be 
the  grandest  thing  that  was  ever  dune  in  the  Glen 
in  oor  time  if  it  could  be  managed  by  hook  or  crook. 

"  We'll  gang  and  see  Drumsheugh,  Jess ;  he's 
anither  man  sin'  Georclie  Hoo's  deith,  and  he  wes 
aye  kinder  than  fouk  kent ;  "  and  the  doctor  passed 
at  a  gallop  through  the  village,  whose  lights  shone 
across  the  white  frost-bound  road. 


THROUGH   THE  FLOOD.  175 

"  Come  in  by,  doctor ;  a'  heard  ye  on  the  road  ; 
ye'ill  hae  been  at  Tammas  Mitchell's  ;  hoo's  the 
gudewife  ?  a'  doot  she's  sober." 

"  Annie's  deein',  Drumsheugh,  an'  Tammas  is 
like  tae  brak  his  hert." 

"  That's  no  lichtsorne,  doctor,  no  lichtsome,  ava, 
for  a'  dinna  ken  ony  man  in  Drumtochty  sae  bund 
up  in  his  wife  as  Tammas,  and  there's  no  a  bonnier 
wumman  o'  her  age  crosses  oor  kirk  door  than 
Annie,  nor  a  cleverer  at  her  wark.  Man,  ye'ill 
need  tae  pit  yir  brains  in  steep.  Is  she  clean 
beyond  ye  ?  " 

"  Beyond  me  and  every  ither  in  the  land  but 
ane,  and  it  wud  cost  a  hundred  guineas  tae  bring 
him  tae  Drumtochty." 

"  Certes,  he's  no  blate  ;  it's  a  fell  chairge  for 
a  short  day's  work ;  but  hundred  or  no  hundred 
we'ill  hae  him,  and  no  let  Annie  gang,  and  her  no 
half  her  years." 

"  Are  ye  meanin'  it,  Drumsheugh  ?"  and  Mac- 
Lure  turned  white  below  the  tan. 

"  William  MacLure,"  said  Drumsheugh,  in  one 
of  the  few  confidences  that  ever  broke  the  Drum- 
tochty reserve,  "  a'm  a  lonely  man,  wi'  naebody 
o'  ma  ain  blude  tae  care  for  me  livin',  or  tae  lift 
me  intae  ma  coffin  when  a'm  deid. 

"  A'  fecht  awa  at  Muirtown  market  for  an  extra 
pund  on  a  beast,  or  a  shillin'  on  the  quarter  o' 
barley,  an' what's  the  gude  o't?  Burnbrae  gaes 
aff  tae  get  a  goon  for  his  wife  or  a  buke  for  his 
college  laddie,  an'  Lachlan  Campbell  'ill  no  leave 
the  place  noo  withoot  a  ribbon  for  Flora. 

"  Ilka  man  in  the  Kildrummie  train  has  some 
bit  fairin'  in  his  pooch  for  the  fouk  at  hame  that 
i.'  th^  siller  he  won. 


I?6  A   DOCTOR   OF  THE  OLD  SCHOOL. 

"  But  there's  naebody  tae  be  lookin'  oot  for 
me  an'  comin'  doon  the  road  tae  meet  me,  and 
daffin'  [joking]  wi'  me  aboot  their  fairing,  or 
feeling  ma  pockets.  Ou,  ay !  a've  seen  it  a*  at 
ither  hooses,  though  they  tried  tae  hide  it  frae 
me  for  fear  a'  wud  lauch  at  them.  Me  lauch, 
wi'  ma  cauld,  empty  hame ! 

"  Yir  the  only  man  kens,  Weelum,  that  I  aince 
luved  the  noblest  wumman  in  the  glen  or  ony- 
where,  an'  a'  luve  her  still,  but  wi'  anither  luve 
noo. 

"  She  hed  given  her  heart  tae  anither,  or  a've 
thocht  a'  micht  hae  won  her,  though  nae  man 
be  worthy  o'  sic  a  gift.  Ma  hert  turned  tae 
bitterness,  but  that  passed  awa  beside  the  brier 
bush  whar  George  Hoo  lay  yon  sad  simmer 
time.  Some  day  a'll  tell  ye  ma  story,  Weelum, 
for  you  an'  me  are  auld  freends,  and  will  be  till 
we  dee." 

MacLure  felt  beneath  the  table  for  Drum- 
sheugh's  hand,  but  neither  man  looked  at  the 
ither. 

"  Weel,  a*  we  can  dae  noo,  Weelum,  gin  we 
h^ena  micjde  brightness  in^  oor  ain  hanxes,  is 
tae  keep  the  licht  frae  gaein'  oot  in  anither 
hoose.'Y\Vrite  the  telegram^  man,  and  Sandy 
'ill  send  it  aff  frae  Kildrummie  this  verra  nicht, 
and  ye'ill  hae  yir  man  the  morn." 

"  Yir  the  man  a'  coonted  ye,  Drumsheugh,  but 
ye'ill  grant  me  ae  favour.  Ye'ill  lat  me  pay  the 
half,  bit  by  bit — a'  ken  yir  wullin*  tae  dae't  af — 
but  a*  haena  mony  pleesures,  an*  a*  wud  like  tae 
hae  ma  ain  share  in  savin'  Annie's  life." 

Next  morning  a  figure  received  Sir  George 
on  the  Kildrummie  platform,  whom  that  fa- 


THROUGH   THE  FLOOD.  177 

mous  surgeon  took  for  a  gillie,  but  who  intro- 
duced himself  as  "  MacLure  of  Drumtochty." 
It  seemed  as  if  the  East  had  come  to  meet  the 
West  when  these  two  stood  together,  the  one  in 
travelling  furs,  handsome  and  distinguished,  with 
his  strong,  cultured  face  and  carriage  of  authority, 
a  characteristic  type  of  his  profession ;  and  the 
other  more  marvellously  dressed  than  ever,  for 
Drumsheugh's  topcoat  had  been  forced  upon 
him  for  the  occasion,  his  face  and  neck  one  red- 
ness with  the  bitter  cold  ;  rough  and  ungainly, 
yet  not  without  some  signs  of  power  in  his  eye 
and  voice,  the  most  heroic  type  of  his  noble  pro- 
fession. MacLure  compassed  the  precious  arrival 
with  observances  till  he  was  securely  seated  in 
Drumsheugh's  dogcart — a  vehicle  that  lent  itself 
to  history — with  two  full-sized  plaids  added  to  his 
equipment — Drumsheugh  and  Hillocks  had  both 
been  requisitioned— and  MacLure  wrapped  an- 
other plaid  round  a  leather  case,  which  was 
placed  below  the  seat  with  such  reverence  as 
might  be  given  to  the  Queen's  regalia.  Peter 
attended  their  departure  full  of  interest,  and  as 
soon  as  they  were  in  the  fir  woods  MacLure 
explained  that  it  would  be  an  eventful  journey. 

"  It's  a'  richt  in  here,  for  the  wind  disna  get  at 
the  snaw,  but  the  drifts  are  deep  in  the  Glen,  and 
th'ill  be  some  engineerin'  afore  we  get  tae  oor 
destination." 

Four  times  they  left  the  road  and  took  their  way 
over  fields  ;  twice  they  forced  a  passage  through  a 
slap  in  a  dyke  ;  thrice  they  used  gaps  in  the  paling 
which  MacLure  had  made  on  his  downward 
journey, 

"  A'  seleckit  the  road  this  mornin',  an'  a'  ken 


178  DOCTOR  OF  THE  OLD  SCHOOL. 

the  depth  tae  an  inch  ;  we'ill  get  through  this 
steadin'  here  tae  the  main  road,  but  oor  worst  job 
'ill  be  crossin'  the  Tochty. 

"  Ye  see  the  bridge  hes  Deen  shakin*  wi'  this 
winter's  flood,  and  we  daurna  venture  on  it,  sae 
we  hev  tae  ford,  and  the  snaw's  been  melting  up 
Urtach  way.  There's  nae  doot  the  water's  gey 
big,  and  it's  threatenin'  tae  rise,  but  we'ill  win 
through  wi'  a  warstle. 

"  It  micht  be  safer  tae  lift  the  instruments  oot  o* 
reach  o'  the  water ;  wud  ye  mind  haddin'  them  on 
yir  knee  till  we're  ower,  an'  keep  ftrm  in  yir  seat  in 
case  we  come  on  a  stane  in  the  bed  o'  the  river." 

By  this  time  they  had  come  to  the  edge,  and  it 
was  not  a  cheering  sight.  The  Tochty  had  spread 
out  over  the  meadows,  and  while  they  waited  they 
could  see  it  cover  another  two  inches  on  the  trunk 
of  a  tree.  There  are  summer  floods,  when  the 
water  is  brown  and  flecked  with  foam,  but  this  was 
a  winter  flood,  which  is  black  and  sullen,  and  runs 
in  the  centre  with  a  strong,  fierce,  silent  current. 
Upon  the  opposite  side  Hillocks  stood  to  give  di- 
rections by  word  and  hand,  as  the  ford  was  on  his 
land,  and  none  knew  the  Tochty  better  in  all  its 
ways. 

They  passed  through  the  shallow  water  without 
mishap,  save  when  the  wheel  struck  a  hidden 
stone  or  fell  suddenly  into  a  rut ;  but  when  they 
neared  the  body  of  the  river  MacLure  halted,  to 
give  Jess  a  minute's  breathing. 

"It  'ill  tak  ye  a'  yir  time,  lass,  an'  a' wud  raither 
be  on  yir  back  ;  but  ye  never  failed  me  yet,  and  a 
wumman's  life  is  hangin'  on  the  crossin'." 

With  the  first  plunge  into  the  bed  of  the  stream 
the  water  rose  to  the  axles,  and  then  it  crept  up  to 


THROUGH   THE  FLOOD.  1 79 

the  shafts,  so  that  the  surgeon  could  feel  it  lap- 
ping in  about  his  feet,  while  the  dogcart  began  to 
quiver,  and  it  seemed  as  if  it  were  to  be  carried 
away.  Sir  George  was  as  brave  as  most  men,  but 
he  had  never  forded  a  Highland  river  in  flood, 
and  the  mass  of  black  water  racing  past  beneath, 
before,  behind  him,  affected  his  imagination  and 
shook  his  nerves.  He  rose  from  his  seat  and 
ordered  MacLure  to  turn  back,  declaring  that  he 
would  be  condemned  utterly  and  eternally  if  he 
allowed  himself  to  be  drowned  for  any  person. 

"Sit  doon!"  thundered  MacLure.  "Con- 
demned ye  will  be,  suner  or  later,  gin  ye  shirk  yir 
duty,  but  through  the  water  ye  gang  the  day." 

Both  men  spoke  much  more  strongly  and 
shortly,  but  this  is  what  they  intended  to  say,  and 
it  was  MacLure  that  prevailed. 

Jess  trailed  her  feet  along  the  ground  with 
cunning  art,  and  held  her  shoulder  against  the 
stream  ;  MacLure  leant  forward  in  his  seat,  a  rein 
in  each  hand,  and  his  eyes  fixed  on  Hillocks,  who 
was  now  standing  up  to  the  waist  in  the  water, 
shouting  directions  and  cheering  on  horse  and 
driver. 

"  Haud  tae  the  richt,  doctor;  there's  a  hole 
yonder.  Keep  oot  o't  for  ony  sake.  That's  it ; 
yir  daein'  fine.  Steady,  man,  steady.  Yir  at  the 
deepest ;  sit  heavy  in  yir  seavs.  Up  the  channel 
noo,  and  ye'ill  be  oot  o'  the  swirl.  Weel  dune, 
Jess,  weel  dune,  auld  mare  !  Mak  straicht  for  me, 
doctor,  an'  a'll  gie  ye  the  road  oot.  Ma  word, 
ye've  dune  yir  best,  baith  o'  ye,  this  mornin',"  cried 
Hillocks,  splashing  up  to  the  dogcart,  now  in  the 
shallows. 

"  Sail,  it  wes  titch  an*  go  for  a  meenut  in  the 


l8o  A   DOCTOR  OF   THE   OLD  SCHOOL. 

middle ;  a  Hielan'  ford  is  a  kittle  [hazardous]  road 
in  the  snavv  time,  but  ye're  safe  noo. 

"  Gude  luck  tae  ye  up  at  Westerton,  sir ;  nane 
but  a  richt-hearted  man  wud  hae  riskit  the  Tochty 
in  flood.  Ye're  boond  tae  succeed  aifter  sic  a 
graund  beginnin',"  for  it  had  spread  already  that  a 
famous  surgeon  had  come  to  do  his  best  for  Annie, 
Tammas  Mitchell's  wife. 

Two  hours  later  MacLure  came  out  from 
Annie's  room  and  laid  hold  of  Tammas,  a  heap  of 
speechless  misery  by  the  kitchen  fire,  and  carried 
him  off  to  the  barn,  and  spread  some  corn  on 
the  threshing  floor  and  thrust  a  flail  into  his 
hands. 

"  Noo  we've  tae  begin,  an'  we'ill  no  be  dune  for 
an*  oor,  and  ye've  tae  lay  on  withoot  stoppin'  till  a' 
come  for  ye,  an'  a'li  shut  the  door  tae  haud  in  the 
noise,  an'  keep  yir  dog  beside  ye,  for  there  maunna 
be  a  cheep  aboot  the  hoose  for  Annie's  sake." 

"  A'll  dae  onything  ye  want  me,  but  if — if " 

"  A'll  come  for  ye,  Tammas,  gin  there  be  danger ; 
but  what  are  ye  feared  for  wi"  the  Queen's  ain 
surgeon  here  ?  " 

Fifty  minutes  did  the  flail  rise  and  fall,  save 
twice,  when  Tammas  crept  to  the  door  and  listened, 
the  dog  lifting  his  head  and  whining. 

It  seemed  twelve  hours  instead  of  one  when  the 
door  swung  back,  and  MacLure  filled  the  doorway, 
preceded  by  a  great  burst  of  light,  for  the  sun  had 
arisen  on  the  snow. 

His  face  was  as  tidings  of  great  joy,  and  Elspeth 
told  me  that  there  was  nothing  like  it  to  be  seen 
that  afternoon  for  glory,  save  the  sun  itself  in  the 
heavens. 

"  A'  never  saw  the  marrow  o't,  Tammas,  an* 


THROUGH   THE  FLOOD.  l8l 

a'll  never  see  the  like  again  ;  it's  a*  ower,  man, 
withoot  a  hitch  frae  beginnin'  tae  end,  and  she's 
fa'in'  asleep  as  fine  as  ye  like." 

"  Dis  he  think  Annie — 'ill  live  ?  " 

"  Of  coorse  he  dis,  and  be  aboot  the  hoose  inside 
a  month ;  that's  the  gude  o'  bein'  a  clean-bluided, 
weel-livin* 

"  Preserve  ye,  man,  what's  wrang  wi'  ye  ?  It's 
a  mercy  a*  keppit  ye,  or  we  wud  hev  hed  anither 
job  for  Sir  George. 

"  Ye're  a*  richt  noo ;  sit  doon  on  the  strae. 
A'll  come  back  in  a  whilie,  an'  ye'ill  see  Annie, 
juist  for  a  meenut,  but  ye  maunna  say  a  word." 

Marget  took  him  in  and  let  him  kneel  by  Annie's 
bedside. 

He  said  nothing  then  or  afterwards,  for  speech 
came  only  once  in  his  lifetime  to  Tammas,  but 
Annie  whispered,  *'  Ma  ain  dear  man." 

When  the  doctor  placed  the  precious  bag  beside 
Sir  George  in  our  solitary  first  next  morning,  he 
laid  a  check  beside  it  and  was  about  to  leave. 

"  No,  no ! "  said  the  great  man.  "  Mrs.  Macfad- 
yen  and  I  were  on  the  gossip  last  night,  and  I 
know  the  whole  story  about  you  and  your  friend. 

"  You  have  some  right  to  call  me  a  coward,  but 
I'll  never  let  you  count  me  a  mean,  miserly  rascal," 
and  the  check  with  Drumsheugh's  painful  writing 
fell  in  fifty  pieces  on  the  floor. 

As  the  train  began  to  move,  a  voice  from  the 
first  called  so  that  all  in  the  station  heard. 

"  Give's  another  shake  of  your  hand,  MacLure  ; 
I'm  proud  to  have  met  you ;  you  are  an  honour  to 
our  profession.  Mind  the  antiseptic  dressings." 

It  was  market  clay,  but  only  Jamie  Soutar  and 
Hillocks  had  ventured  down. 


1 82  A   DOCTOR   OF  THE   OLD  SCHOOL. 

"  Did  ye  hear  yon,  Hillocks  ?  Hoo  dae  ye  feel  > 
A'll  no  deny  a'm  lifted." 

Halfway  to  the  Junction  Hillocks  had  recovered, 
and  began  to  grasp  the  situation. 

"  Tell's  what  he  said.  A*  wud  like  to  hae  it  ex- 
act for  Drumsheugh." 

"  Thae's  the  eedentical  words,  an*  they're  true ; 
there's  no  a  man  in  Drumtochty  disna  ken  that, 
except  ane." 

"  An'  wha's  that,  Jamie? " 

"  It's  Weelum  MacLure  himsel'.  Man,  a've 
often  girned  that  he  sud  fecht  awa  for  us  a',  and 
maybe  dee  before  he  kent  that  he  hed  githered 
mair  luve  than  -ony  man  in  the  Glen. 

"  '  A'm  prood  tae  hae  met  ye,'  says  Sir  George, 
an*  him  the  greatest  doctor  in  the  land.  '  Yir  an 
honour  tae  oor  profession.' 

"  Hillocks,  a'  wudna  hae  missed  it  for  twenty 
notes,"  said  James  Soutar,  cynic-in-ordinary  to  the 
parish  of  Drumtochty. 


III. 

A   FIGHT  WITH  DEATH. 

WHEN  Drumsheugh's  grieve  was  brought  to  the 
gates  of  death  by  fever,  caught,  as  was  supposed, 
on  an  adventurous  visit  to  Glasgow,  the  London 
doctor  at  Lord  Kilspindie's  shooting  lodge  looked 
in  on  his  way  from  the  moor,  and  declared  it  im- 
possible for  Saunders  to  live  through  the  night. 

"  I  give  him  six  hours,  more  or  less ;  it  is  only  a 
question  of  time,"  said  the  oracle,  buttoning  his 
gloves  and  getting  into  the  brake.  "Tell  your 
parish  doctor  that  I  was  sorry  not  to  have  met  him." 

Bell  heard  this  verdict  from  behind  the  door,  and 
gave  way  utterly,  but  Drumsheugh  declined  to 
accept  it  as  final,  and  devoted  Jv'mself  to  consola- 
tion. 

"  Dinna  greet  like  that,  Bell,  wumman,  sae  lang 
as  Saunders  is  still  livin* ;  a'll  never  give  up  houp, 
for  ma  pairt,  till  oor  ain  man  says  the  word. 
,  "  A*  the  doctors  in  the  land  dinna  ken  as  muckle 
aboot  us  as  Weelum  MacLure,  an'  he's  ill  tae  beat 
when  he's  tryin*  tae  save  a  man's  life." 

MacLure,  on  his  coming,  would  say  nothing, 
either  weal  or  woe,  till  he  had  examined  Saunders. 
Suddenly  his  face  turned  into  iron  before  their  eyes, 
and  he  looked  like  one  encountering  a  merciless 
foe.  For  there  was  a  feud  between  MacLure  and 
a  certain  mighty  power  which  had  lasted  for  forty 
years  in  Drumtochty. 

183 


184  A   DOCTOR  OF  THE  OLD  SCHOOL. 

"  The  London  doctor  said  that  Saunders  wud 
sough  awa'  afore  mornin',  did  he  ?  Weel,  he's  an* 
authority  on  fevers  an*  sic  like  diseases,  an'  ought 
tae  ken. 

"  It's  may  be  presumptuous  o'  me  tae  differ  frae 
him,  and  it  wudna  be  verra  respectfu'  o'  Saunders 
tae  live  aifter  this  opeenion.  But  Saunders  wes  aye 
thraun  an*  ill  tae  drive,  an*  he's  as  like  as  no  tae 
gang  his  ain  gait. 

"  A'm  no  meanin'  tae  reflect  on  sae  clever  a  man, 
but  he  didna  ken  the  seetuation.  He  can  read 
fevers  like  a  buik,  but  he  never  cam*  across  sic  a 
a  thing  as  the  Drumtochty  constitution  a'  his  days. 

"  Ye  see,  when  onybody  gets  as  low  as  puir 
Saunders  here,  it's  a  juist  a  hand-to-hand  wrastle 
atween  the  fever  and  his  constitution,  an'  of  coorse, 
if  he  hed  been  a  shilpit,  stuntit,  feckless  effeegy  o'  a 
cratur,  fed  on  tea  an'  made  dishes  and  pushioned 
wi'  bad  air,  Saunders  wud  hae  nae  chance ;  he  wes 
boond  tae  gae  oot  like  the  snuff  o'  a  candle. 

"  But  Saunders  has  been  fillin*  his  lungs  for  five 
and  thirty  year  wi'  strong  Drumtochty  air,  an* 
eatin*  naethin'  but  kirny  aitmeal,  and  drinkin' 
naethin*  but  fresh  milk  frae  the  coo,  an'  followin' 
the  ploo  through  the  new-turned,  sweet-smellin* 
earth,  an'  swingin'  the  scythe  in  haytime  and  har- 
vest, till  the  legs  an*  airms  o'  him  were  iron,  an*  his 
chest  wes  like  the  cuttin'  o*  an  oak  tree. 

"  He's  a  waesome  sicht  the  nicht,  but  Saunders 
wes  a  buirdly  man  aince,  and  wull  never  lat  his  life 
be  taken  lichtly  frae  him,  Na,  na  ;  he  hesna  sinned 
against  Nature,  and  Nature  'ill  stand  by  him  noo  in 
his  oor  o'  distress. 

"  A*  daurna  say  yea,  Bell,  muckle  as  a'  wud  like, 
for  this  is  an  evil  disease,  cunnin'  an'  treacherous 


A   FIGHT   WITH  DEA  TH.  185 

as  the  deevil  himsel',  but  a'  winna  say  nay,  sae 
keep  yir  hert  frae  despair. 

"  It  wull  be  a  sair  fecht,  but  it  'ill  be  settled  one 
wy  or  anither  by  six  o'clock  the  morn's  morn.  Nae 
man  can  prophecee  hoo  it  'ill  end,  but  ae  thing  is 
certain,  a'll  no  see  Deith  tak  a  Drumtochty  man 
afore  his  time  if  a'  can  help  it. 

"  Noo,  Bell,  ma  wumman,  yir  near  deid  wi*  tire, 
an*  nae  wonder.  Ye've  dune  a'  ye  cud  for  yir  man 
an*  ye'ill  lippen  [trust]  him  the  nicht  tae  Drum- 
sheugh  an'  me  ;  we'ill  no  fail  him  or  you. 

"  Lie  doon  an*  rest,  an'  if  it  be  the  wull  o'  the 
Almichty  a'll  wauken  ye  in  the  mornin'  tae  see  a 
livin',  conscious  man,  an*  if  it  be  itherwise  a'll  come 
for  ye  the  suner,  Bell,"  and  the  big  red  hand  went 
out  to  the  anxious  wife.  "  A'  gie  ye  ma  word." 

Bell  leant  over  the  bed,  and  at  the  sight  of  Saun- 
ders'  face  a  superstitious  dread  seized  her. 

"  See,  doctor,  the  shadow  of  deith  is  on  him  that 
never  lifts.  A've  seen  it  afore,  on  ma  father  anf 
mither.  A*  canna  leave  him  ;  a'  canna  leave  him  ! " 

"  It's  hoverin',  Bell,  but  it  hesna  fallen  ;  please 
God  it  never  wull.  Gang  but  and  get  some  sleep, 
for  it's  time  we  were  at  oor  wark. 

"  The  doctors  in  the  toons  hae  nurses  an*  a* 
kinds  o'  handy  apparatus,"  said  MacLure  to  Drum* 
sheugh  when  Bell  had  gone,  "  but  you  an'  me  'ill 
need  tae  be  nurse  the  nicht,  an*  use  sic  things  as 
we  hev. 

"  It  'ill  be  a  lang  nicht  and  anxious  wark,  but  a* 
wud  raither  hae  ye,  auld  freend,wi'  me  than  ony  man 
in  the  Glen.  Ye're  no  feared  tae  gie  a  hand  ?  " 

"  Me  feared  ?  No  likely.  Man,  Saunders  cam* 
tae  me  a  haflin,  an'  hes  been  on  Drumsheugh  for 
twenty  years,  an'  though  he  be  a  dour  chiel,  he's  a 


1 86  A   DOCTOR  OF  THE   OLD  SCHOOL. 

faithfu'  servant  as  ever  lived.  It's  waesome  tae  see 
him  lyin'  there  moanin'  like  some  dumb  animal  frae 
mornin*  to  nicht,  an*  no  able  tae  answer  his  ain 
wife  when  she  speaks. 

"  Div  ye  think,  Weelum,  he  hes  a  chance  ?  " 

"  That  he  hes,  at  ony  rate,  and  it  'ill  no  be  your 
blame  or  mine  if  he  hesna  mair." 

While  he  was  speaking,  MacLure  took  off  his 
coat  and  waistcoat  and  hung  them  on  the  back  of 
the  door.  Then  he  rolled  up  the  sleeves  of  his 
shirt  and  laid  bare  two  arms  that  were  nothing  but 
bone  and  muscle. 

"  It  gar'd  ma  very  blood  rin  faster  tae  the  end  of 
ma  fingers  juist  tae  look  at  him,"  Drumsheugh  ex- 
patiated afterwards  to  Hillocks,  "  for  a'  saw  noo 
that  there  was  tae  be  a  stand-up  fecht  atween  him 
an*  Deith  for  Saunders,  and  when  a'  thocht  o'  Bell 
an*  her  bairns,  a'  kent  wha  wud  win. 

"  '  Aff  wi'  yir  coat,  Drumsheugh,'  said  MacLure ; 
*  ye'ill  need  tae  bend  yir  back  the  nicht ;  gither  a' 
the  pails  in  the  hoose  and  fill  them  at  the  spring, 
an*  a'll  come  doon  tae  help  ye  wi'  the  carryin'.'  " 

It  was  a  wonderful  ascent  up  the  steep  pathway 
from  the  spring  to  the  cottage  on  its  little  knoll, 
the  two  men  in  single  file,  bareheaded,  silent, 
solemn,  each  with  a  pail  of  water  in  either  hand, 
MacLure  limping  painfully  in  front,  Drumsheugh 
blowing  behind ;  and  when  they  laid  down  their 
burden  in  the  sick  room,  where  the  bits  of  furniture 
had  been  put  to  a  side  and  a  large  tub  held  the  cen- 
tre, Drumsheugh  looked  curiously  at  the  doctor. 

"  No,  a'm  no  daft ;  ye  needna  be  feared  ;  but  yir 
tae  get  yir  first  lesson  in  medicine  the  nicht,  an'  if 
we  win  the  battle  ye  can  set  up  for  yersel'  in  theGlen. 

"  There's  twa  dangers— that  Saunders'  strength 


A   FIGHT  WITH  &EA  TH.  187 

fails,  an'  that  the  force  o'  the  fever  grows ;  and  we 
have  juist  twa  weapons. 

"  Yon  milk  on  the  drawers'  head  an'  the  bottle 
of  whisky  is  tae  keep  up  the  strength,  and  this 
cool  caller  water  is  tae  keep  doon  the  fever. 

"  We'ill  cast  oot  the  fever  by  the  virtue  o'  the 
earth  an'  the  water." 

"  Div  ye  mean  tae  pit  Saunders  in  the  tub  ?  " 

"Ye  hiv  it  noo,  Drumsheugh,  and  that's  hoo 
a'  need  yir  help." 

"  Man,  Hillocks,"  Drumsheugh  used  to  mor- 
alise, as  often  as  he  remembered  that  critical 
night,  "  it  wes  humblin'  tae  see  how  low  sick- 
ness can  bring  a  pooerfu*  man,  an*  ocht  tae  keep 
us  frae  pride. 

"  A  month  syne  there  wesna  a  stronger  man 
in  the  Glen  than  Saunders,  an'  noo  he  wes  juist 
a  bundle  o'  skin  and  bone,  that  naither  saw  nor 
heard,  nor  moved  nor  felt,  that  kent  naethin'  that 
was  dune  tae  him. 

"  Hillocks,  a*  wudna  hae  wished  ony  man  tae  hev 
seen  Saunders — for  it  wull  never  pass  frae  before 
ma  een  as  long  as  a'  live — but  a'  wish  a'  the  Glen 
hed  stude  by  MacLure  kneelin'  on  the  floor  wi'  his 
sleeves  up  tae  his  oxters  and  waitin'  on  Sounders. 

"  Yon  big  man  wes  as  pitifu'  an'  gentle  as  a 
wumman,  and  when  he  laid  the  puir  fallow  in  his 
bed  again,  he  happit  him  ower  as  a  mither  dis 
her  bairn." 

Thrice  it  was  done,  Drumsheugh  ever  bringing 
up  colder  water  from  the  spring,  and  twice 
MacLure  was  silent ;  but  after  the  third  time 
there  was  a  gleam  in  his  eye. 

"  We're  haudin'  oor  ain ;  we're  no  bein'  mais- 
tered,  at  ony  rate  ;  mair  a'  canna  say  for  three  oors* 


1 88  A    DOCTOR  OF  THE   OLD  SCHOOL. 

"  We'ill  no  need  the  water  again,  Drumsheugh  , 
gae  oot  and  tak  a  breath  o'  air ;  a'm  on  gaird 
masel'." 

It  was  the  hour  before  daybreak,  and  Drum- 
sheugh wandered  through  fields  he  had  trod- 
den since  childhood.  The  cattle  lay  sleeping 
in  the  pastures  ;  their  shadowy  forms,  with  a 
patch  of  whiteness  here  and  there,  having  a  weird 
suggestion  of  death.  He  heard  the  burn  running 
over  the  stones  ;  fifty  years  ago  he  had  made  a 
dam  that  lasted  till  winter.  The  hooting  of 
an  owl  made  him  start ;  one  had  frightened  him 
as  a  boy  so  that  he  ran  home  to  his  mother — she 
died  thirty  years  ago.  The  smell  of  ripe  corn 
filled  the  air ;  it  would  soon  be  cut  and  garnered. 
He  could  see  the  dim  outlines  of  his  house,  all 
dark  and  cold  ;  no  one  he  loved  was  beneath  the 
roof.  The  lighted  window  in  Saunders'  cottage 
told  where  a  man  hung  between  life  and  death,  but 
love  was  in  that  home.  The  futility  of  life  arose 
before  this  lonely  man,  and  overcame  his  heart 
with  an  indescribable  sadness.  What  a  vanity 
was  all  human  labour ;  what  a  mystery  all  human 
We! 

But  while  he  stood,  a  subtle  change  came  over 
the  night,  and  the  air  trembled  round  him  as  if  one 
had  whispered.  Drumsheugh  lifted  his  head  and 
looked  eastward.  A  faint  gray  stole  over  the  dis- 
tant horizon,  and  suddenly  a  cloud  reddened 
before  his  eyes.  The  sun  was  not  in  sight,  but 
was  rising,  and  sending  forerunners  before  his 
face.  The  cattle  began  to  stir,  a  blackbird  burst 
into  song,  and  before  Drumsheugh  crossed  the 
threshold  of  Saunders'  house,  the  first  ray  of  the 
sun  had  broken  on  a  peak  of  the  Grampians. 


A   FIGHT  W1T&  DEATH.  189 

MacLure  left  the  bedside,  and  as  the  light  of  the 
candle  fell  on  the  doctor's  face,  Drumsheugh 
could  see  that  it  was  going  well  with  Saunders. 

"  He's  nae  waur ;  an*  it's  half  six  noo  ;  it's  ower 
sune  tae  say  mair,  but  a'm  houpin'  for  the  best. 
Sit  doon  and  take  a  sleep,  for  ye're  needin'  ftr 
Drumsheugh,  an',  man,  ye  hae  worked  for  it." 

As  he  dozed  off,  the  last  thing  Drumsheugh  saw 
was  the  doctor  sitting  erect  in  his  chair,  a  clenched 
fist  resting  on  the  bed,  and  his  eyes  already  bright 
with  the  vision  of  victory. 

He  awoke  with  a  start  to  find  the  room  flooded 
with  the  morning  sunshine,  and  every  trace  of  last 
night's  work  removed. 

The  doctor  was  bending  over  the  bed,  and 
speaking  to  Saunders. 

"  It's  me,  Saunders ;  Doctor  MacLure,  ye  ken : 
dinna  try  tae  speak  or  move ;  juist  let  this  drap 
milk  slip  ower — ye'ill  be  needin'  yir  breakfast,  lad 
— and  gang  tae  sleep  again." 

Five  minutes,  and  Saunders  had  fallen  into  a 
deep,  healthy  sleep,  all  tossing  and  moaning  come 
to  an  end.  Then  MacLure  stepped  softly  across 
the  floor,  picked  up  his  coat  and  waistcoat,  and 
went  out  at  the  door. 

Drumsheugh  arose  and  followed  him  without  a 
word.  They  passed  through  the  little  garden, 
sparkling  with  dew,  and  beside  the  byre,  where 
Hawkie  rattled  her  chain,  impatient  for  Bell's  com- 
ing, and  by  Saunders'  little  strip  of  corn  ready  for 
the  scythe,  till  they  reached  an  open  field.  There 
they  came  to  a  halt,  and  Dr.  MacLure  for  once 
allowed  himself  to  go. 

His  coat  he  flung  east  and  his  waistcoat  west,  as 
far  as  he  could  hurl  them,  and  it  was  plain  he 


1QO  A   DOCTOR  OF  THE  OLD  SCHOOL 

would  have  shouted  had  he  been  a  complete  mile 
from  Saunclers'  room.  Any  less  distance  was  use- 
less for  adequate  expression.  He  struck  Drum- 
sheugh  a  mighty  blow  that  well-nigh  levelled  that 
substantial  man  in  the  dust,  and  then  the  doctor  of 
Drumtochty  issued  his  bulletin. 

"  Saunders  wesna  tae  live  through  the  nicht,  but 
he's  livhV  this  meenut,  an'  like  to  live. 

"  He's  got  by  the  warst  clean  and  fair,  and  wi' 
him  that's  as  good  as  cure. 

"  It  'ill  be  a  graund  waukenin'  for  Bell ;  she'ill 
no  be  a  weedow  yet,  nor  the  bairntes  fatherless. 

"  There's  nae  use  glowerin'  at  me,  Drumsheugh, 
for  a  body's  daft  at  a  time,  an*  a'  canna  contain 
maser,  and  a'm  no  gaein'  tae  try." 

Then  it  dawned  upon  Drumsheugh  that  the 
doctor  was  attempting  the  Highland  fling. 

"  He's  ill  made,  tae  begin  wi',"  Drumsheugh  ex- 
plained in  the  kirkyard  next  Sabbath,  "  and  ye  ken 
he's  been  terrible  mishannelled  by  accidents,  saeye 
may  think  what  like  it  wes,  but,  as  sure  as  deith,  o' 
a'  the  Hielan'  flings  a'  ever  saw  yon  wes  the  bonniest. 

"  A*  hevna  shaken  ma  ain  legs  for  thirty  years, 
but  a*  confess  tae  a  turn  masel'.  Ye  may  lauch 
an*  ye  like,  neeburs,  but  the  thocht  o'  Bell  an'  the 
news  that  wes  waitin'  her  got  the  better  o'  me." 

Drumtochty  did  not  laugh.  Drumtochty  looked 
as  if  it  could  have  done  quite  otherwise  for  joy. 

"  Af  wud  hae  made  a  third  gin  a'  hed  been 
there,"  announced  Hillocks  aggressively. 

'•  Come  on,  Drumsheugh,"  said  Jamie  Soutar, 
"  gie's  the  end  o't ;  it  wes  a  michty  mornin'." 

"  *  We're  twa  auld  fules,'  says  MacLure  tae  me, 
as  he  gaithers  up  his  claithes.  '  It  wud  set  us 
better  tae  be  tellin'  Bell.' 


A   FIGHT  WITH  DEA  Tff.  19! 

44  She  was  sleepin'  on  the  top  o'  her  bed  wrapped 
in  a  plaid,  fair  worn  oot  wi'  three  weeks'  nursin' 
o'  Saunders,  but  at  the  first  touch  she  was  oot 
upon  the  floor. 

"  '  Is  Saunders  deein',  doctor  ?  '  she  cries.  '  Ye 
promised  tae  wauken  me ;  dinna  tell  me  it's  a'  ower.' 

"  There's  nae  deein'  aboot  him,  Bell ;  ye're  no 
tae  lose  yir  man  this  time,  sae  far  as  a'  can  see. 
Come  ben  an*  jidge  for  yersel'.' 

"  Bell  lookit  at  Saunders,  and  the  tears  of  joy 
fell  on  the  bed  like  rain. 

"  *  The  shadow's  lifted,'  she  said ;  '  he's  come 
back  frae  the  mooth  o'  the  tomb. 

"  '  A'  prayed  last  nicht  that  the  Lord  wud  leave 
Saunders  till  the  laddies  cud  dae  for  themselves, 
an'  thae  words  came  intae  ma  mind,  "  Weepin'  may 
endure  for  a  nicht,  but  joy  cometh  in  the  mornin'." 

"  '  The  Lord  heard  ma  prayer,  and  joy  hes  come 
in  the  mornin'/  an*  she  gripped  the  doctor's  hand. 

"  *  Ye've  been  the  instrument,  Doctor  MacLure. 
Ye  wudna  gie  him  up,  and  ye  did  what  nae  ither 
cud  for  him,  an*  a've  ma  man  the  day,  and  the 
bairns  hae  their  father.' 

"  An*  afore  MacLure  kent  what  she  was  daein', 
Bell  lifted  his  hand  to  her  lips  an*  kissed  it." 

"  Did  she,  though  ?  "  cried  Jamie.  "  Wha  wud 
hae«thocht  there  wes  as  muckle  spunk  in  Bell  ?  " 

"  MacLure,  of  coorse,  was  clean  scandalised," 
continued  Drumsheugh,  "  an'  pooed  awa'  his  hand 
as  if  it  hed  been  burned. 

"  Nae  man  can  thole  that  kind  o'  fraikin',  and 
a*  never  heard  o'  sic  a  thing  in  the  parish,  but  we 
maun  excuse  Bell,  neeburs  ;  it  wes  an  occasion 
by  ordinar,"  and  Drumsheugh  made  Bell's  apology 
to  Drumtochty  for  such  an  excess  of  feeling. 


I92  A   DOCTOR  OF  TKL  OLD  SCHOOL. 

"A*  see  naethin'  tae  excuse,"  insisted  Jamiel 
who  was  in  great  fettle  that  Sabbath  ;  "  the  doctor 
hes  never  been  burdened  wi'  fees,  and  a'm  judgin' 
he  coonted  a  wumman's  gratitude  that  he  saved 
frae  weedowhood  the  best  he  ever  got." 

"  A*  gaed  up  tae  the  Manse  last  nicht,"  con- 
cluded Drumsheugh,  "  an*  telt  the  minister  hoo 
the  doctor  focht  aucht  oors  for  Saunders'  life,  an' 
won,  an'  ye  never  saw  a  man  sae  carried.  He 
walkit  up  an'  doon  the  room  a'  the  time,  and  every 
other  meenut  he  blew  his  nose  like  a  trumpet. 

"  '  I've  a  cold  in  my  head  to-night,  Drumsheugh/ 
says  he  ;  '  never  mind  me.'" 

"  A've  hed  the  same  masel*  in  sic  circumstances ; 
they  come  on  sudden,"  said  Jamie. 

•'  Af  wager  there  'ill  be  a  new  bit  in  the  laist 
prayer  the  day,  an'  somethin'  worth  hearinV 

And  the  fathers  went  into  kirk  in  great  ex- 
pectation. 

44  We  beseech  Thee  for  such  as  be  sick,  that 
Thy  hand  may  be  on  them  for  good,  and  that  Thou 
wouldst  restore  them  again  to  health  and  strength," 
was  the  familiar  petition  of  every  Sabbath. 

The  congregation  waited  in  a  silence  that  might 
be  heard,  and  were  not  disappointed  that  morning, 
for  the  minister  continued  : 

"  Especially  we  tender  Thee  hearty  thanks  that 
Thou  didst  spare  Thy  servant  who  was  brought 
down  into  the  dust  of  death,  and  hast  given  him 
back  to  his  wife  and  children,  and  unto  that  end 
didst  wonderfully  bless  the  skill  of  him  who  goes 
out  and  in  amongst  us,  the  beloved  physician  of 
this  parish  and  adjacent  districts." 

"  Didna  a'  tell  ye,  neeburs  ?  "  said  Jamie,  as 
they  stood  at  the  kirkyard  gate  before  dispersing  ; 


A   FIGHT  WITH  DBA  TH,  1Q3 

"  there's  no  a  man  in  the  coonty  cud  hae  dune  it 
better.  '  Beloved  physician/  an*  his  '  skill,'  tae, 
an'  bringing  in  *  adjacent  districts  ' ;  that's  Glen 
Urtach  ;  it  wes  handsome,  and  the  doctor  earned 
it,  ay,  every  word. 

"  It's  an  awfu'  peety  he  didna  hear  yon ;  but 
dear   knows  whar    he   is    the   day,  maist   likely 


Jamie  stopped  suddenly  at  the  sound  of  a.  horse's 
feet,  and  there,  coming  down  the  avenue  of  beech 
trees  that  made  a  long  vista  from  the  kirk  gate, 
they  saw  the  doctor  and  Jess, 

One  thought  flashed  through  the  minds  of  the 
fathers  of  the  commonwealth. 

It  ought  to  be  done  as  he  passed,  and  it  would 
be  done  if  it  .were  not  Sabbath.  Of  course  it  was 
out  of  the  question  on  Sabbath. 

The  doctor  is  now  distinctly  visible,  riding  after 
his  fashion. 

There  was  never  such  a  chance,  if  it  were  only 
Saturday ;  and  each  man  reads  his  own  regret  in 
his  neighbour's  face. 

The  doctor  is  nearing  them  rapidly;  they  can 
imagine  the  shepherd's  tartan. 

Sabbath  or  no  Sabbath,  the  Glen  cannot  let  him 
pass  without  some  tribute  of  their  pride. 

Jess  has  recognised  friends,  and  the  doctor  is 
drawing  rein. 

"  It  hes  tae  be  dune,"  said  Jamie  desperately, 
"  say  what  ye  like."  Then  they  all  looked  towards 
him,  and  Jamie  led. 

"  Hurrah  ! "  swinging  his  Sabbath  hat  in  the  air, 
"  hurrah  !  "  and  once  more,  "  hurrah  ! "  Whinnie 
Knowe,  Drumsheugh,  and  Hillocks  joining  lustily, 
but  Tamrnas  Mitchell  carrying  all  before  him,  for 


194  A  DOCTOR  OF  THE  OLD  SCHOOL. 

he  had  found  at  last  an  expression  for  his  feelings 
that  rendered  speech  unnecessary. 

It  was  a  solitary  experience  for  horse  and  rider, 
and  Jess  bolted  without  delay.  But  the  sound 
followed  and  surrounded  them,  and  as  they  passed 
the  corner  of  the  kirkyard,  a  figure  waved  his 
college  cap  over  the  wall  and  gave  a  cheer  on  his 
own  account. 

"  God  bless  you,  doctor,  and  well  done ! " 

"  If  it  isna  the  minister,"  cried  Drumsheugh,  "  in 
his  goon  an*  bans ;  tae  think  o'  that ;  but  a' 
respeck  him  for  it." 

Then  Drumtochty  became  self-conscious  and 
went  home  in  confusion  of  face  and  unbroken 
silence,  except  Jamie  Soutar,  who  faced  his  neigh- 
bours  at  the  parting  of  the  ways  without  shame. 

"A*  wud  dae  it  a'  ower  again  if  a*  hed  the 
chance  ;  he  got  naethin*  but  his  due." 

It  was  two  miles  before  Jess  composed  her  mind, 
and  the  doctor  and  she  could  discuss  it  quietly 
together. 

"A'  can  hardly  believe  ma  ears,  Jess,  an*  the 
Sabbath  tae ;  their  verra  jidgment  hes  gane  frae 
the  fouk  o'  Drumtochty. 

"  They've  heard  about  Saunders,  a'm  thinkin', 
wumman,  and  they're  pleased  we  brocht  him 
roond  ;  he's  fairly  on  the  mend,  ye  ken,  noo. 

"  A*  never  expeckit  the  like  o'  this,  though,  and  it 
wes  juist  a  wee  thingie  mair  than  a*  cud  hae  stude. 

"  Ye  hev  yir  share  in't  tae,  lass ;  we've  hed 
mony  a  hard  nicht  and  day  thegither,  an'  yon  wes 
oor  reward.  No  mony  men  in  this  warld  'ill  ever 
get  a  better,  for  it  cam'  from  the  hert  o'  honest 
fouk." 


IV. 

THE  DOCTOR'S  LAST  JOURNEY. 

DRUMTOCHTY  had  a  vivid  recollection  of  the 
winter  when  Dr.  MacLure  was  laid  up  for  two 
months  with  a  broken  leg,  and  the  Glen  was  de- 
pendent on  the  dubious  ministrations  of  the  Kil- 
drummie  doctor.  Mrs.  Macfadyen  also  pretended 
to  recall  a  "  whup  "  of  some  kind  or  other  he  had 
in  the  .fifties,  but  this  was  considered  to  be  rather 
a  pyrotechnic  display  of  Elspeth's  superior  memory 
than  a  serious  statement  of  fact.  MacLure  could 
not  have  ridden  through  the  snow  of  forty  winters 
without  suffering,  yet  no  one  ever  heard  him  com- 
plain, and  he  never  pled  illness  to  any  messenger  by 
night  or  day. 

"  It  took  me,"  said  Jamie  Soutar  to  Milton  after- 
wards, "  the  feck  o*  ten  meenuts  tae  howk  him  an* 
Jess  oot  ae  snawy  nicht  when  Drums  turned  bad 
sudden,  and  if  he  didna  try  to  excuse  himself  for 
no  hearing  me  at  aince  wi'  some  story  aboot  juist 
comin'  in  frae  Glen  Urtach,  an  no  bein'  in  his  bed 
for  the  laist  twa  nicht. 

"  He  wes  that  carefu'  o'  himsel'  an*  lazy  that  if  it 
hedna  been  for  the  siller,  a've  often  thocht,  Milton, 
he  wud  never  hae  dune  a  handstroke  o'  wark  in  the 
Glen. 

"  What  scunnered  me  wes  the  wy  the  bairns 
were  ta'en  in  wi'  him.  Man,  a've  seen  him  tak  a 
wee  laddie  on  his  knee  that  his  ain  mither  cudna 
quiet,  an'  lilt '  Sing  a  song  o'  saxpence '  till  the  bit 


1Q6  A   DOCTOR  OF  THE   OLD  SCHOOL. 

mannie  wud  be  lauchin'  like  a  gutie  ane,  an*  pooin1 
the  doctor's  beard. 

"As  for  the  weemen.he  fair  cuist  a  glamour  ower 
them  ;  they're  daein'  naethin'  noo  but  speak  aboot 
this  body  and  the  ither  he  cured, an'  hoo  he  aye  hed 
acouthy  word  for  sick  fouk.  Weemen  hae  nae  dis- 
cernment, Milton;  tae  hear  them  speak  ye  wud  think 
MacLure  hed  been  a  releegious  man  like  yersel', 
although,  as  ye  said,  he  wes  little  mair  than  a  Gallic. 

"  Bell  Baxter  was  haverin*  awa  in  the  shop  tae 
sic  an  extent  aboot  the  wy  MacLure  brocht  roond 
Saunders  when  he  hed  the  fever  that  a'  gied  oot  at 
the  door,  a'  wes  that  disgusted,  an'  a'm  telt  when 
Tammas  Mitchell  heard  the  news  in  the  smiddy  he 
wes  juist  on  the  greetin'. 

"  The  smith  said  that  he  wes  thinkin'  o'  Annie's 
tribble,  but  ony  wy  a'  ca'  it  rael  ?3airnly.  It's  no 
like  Drumtochty ;  ye're  setting  an  example,  Milton, 
wi'  yir  composure.  But  a'  mind  ye  took  the  doctor's 
meesure  as  sune  as  ye  cam*  intae  the  pairish." 

It  is  the  penalty  of  a  cynic  that  he  must  have 
some  relief  for  his  secret  grief,  and  Milton  began 
to  weary  of  life  in  Jamie's  hands  during  those  days. 

Drumtochty  was  not  observant  in  the  matter  of 
health,  but  they  had  grown  sensitive  about  Dr. 
MacLure,  and  remarked  in  the  kirkyard  all  sum- 
mer that  he  was  failing. 

"  He  wes  aye  spare,"  said  Hillocks, "  anf  he's  been 
sair  twisted  for  the  laist  twenty  year,  but  a*  never 
mind  him  booed  till  the  year.  An*  he's  gaein'  intae 
sma'  buke  [bulk],  an'  a*  dinna  like  that,  neeburs. 

"The  Glen  wudna  dae  weel  withoot  Weelum 
MacLure,  an'  he's  no  as  young  as  he  wes.  Man, 
Drumsheugh,  ye  micht  wile  him  aff  tae  the  saut 
water  atween  the  neeps  and  the  hairst.  He's  been 


THE  DOCTOR'S  LAST  JOURNEY.  IQ7 

workin*  forty  year  for  a  holiday,  an'  it's  aboot  due/ 
Drumsheugh  was  full  of  tact,  and  met  MacLure 
quite  by  accident  on  the  road. 

"  Saunders  'ill  no  need  me  till  the  shearing  be- 
gins/' he  explained  to  the  doctor,  "  an'  a'm  gaein' 
tae  Brochty  for  a  turn  o'  the  hot  baths  ;  they're 
fine  for  the  rheumatics. 

"  Wull  ye  no  come  wi'  me  for  aulcl  lang  syne  ?  it's 
lonesome  for  a  solitary  man,an'it  would  dae  ye  gude." 

"Na,  na,  Drumsheugh,"  said  MacLure,  who 
understood  perfectly,  "a've  dune  a'  thae  years 
withoot  a  break,  an*  a'm  laith  [unwilling]  tae  be 
takin'  holidays  at  the  tail  end. 

"  A'll  no  be  mony  months  wi'  ye  thegither  noo. 
an*  a'm  wanting  tae  spend  a*  the  time  a'  hev  in  the 
Glen.  Ye  see  yersel'  that  a'll  sune  be  getting  ma 
lang  rest,  an'  a'll  no  deny  that  a'm  wearyin*  for  it." 

As  autumn  passed  into  winter,  the  Glen  noticed 
that  the  doctor's  hair  had  turned  gray,  and  that  his 
manner  had  lost  all  it's  roughness.  A  feeling  of 
secret  gratitude  filled  their  hearts,  and  they  united 
in  a  conspiracy  of  attention.  Annie  Mitchell 
knitted  a  huge  comforter  in  red  and  white,  which 
the  doctor  wore  in  misery  for  one  whole  day,  out 
of  respect  for  Annie,  and  then  hung  in  his  sitting- 
room  as  a  wall  ornament.  Hillocks  used  to  inter- 
cept him  with  hot  drinks,  and  one  drifting  day 
compelled  him  to  shelter  till  the  storm  abated. 
Flora  Campbell  brought  a  wonderful  compound  of 
honey  and  whisky,  much  tasted  in  Auchindarroch, 
for  his  cough,  and  the  mother  of  young  Burnbrae 
filled  his  cupboard  with  black  jam,  as  a  healing 
measure.  Jamie  Soutar  seemed  to  have  an  endless 
series  of  jobs  in  the  doctor's  direction,  and  looked 
in  "  juist  to  rest  himsel'  "  in  the  kitchen. 


t9»  A  DOCTOR  OF  THE  OLD  SCHOOL. 

MacLure  had  been  slowly  taking  in  the  situation, 
and  at  last  he  unburdened  himself  one  night  to  Jamie. 

"  What  ails  the  fouk,  think  ye  ?  for  they're  aye 
lecturin'me  noo  tae  tak  care  o'the  weetand  tae  wrap 
niasel*  up,  an  there's  no  a  week  but  they're  sendin' 
bit  presents  tae  the  hoose,  till  a'm  fair  ashamed." 

*'  Oo,  a '11  explain  that  in  a  meenut,"  answered 
Jamie,  "  for  a*  ken  the  Glen  weel.  Ye  see  they're 
juist  tryin'  the  Scripture  plan  o'  heapin'  coals  of 
fire  on  yer  head. 

"  Here  ye've  been  negleckin'  the  fouk  in  seek- 
ness  an*  lettin'  them  dee  afore  their  freends'  eyes 
withoot  a  fecht,  an*  refusin'  tae  gang  tae  a  puir 
wumman  in  her  tribble,  an'  frichtenin'  the  bairns — 
no,  a'm  no  dune — and  scourgin'  us  wi'  fees,  and 
livin'  yersel'  on  the  fat  o'  the  land. 

"  Ye've  been  carry  in'  on  this  trade  ever  sin  yir 
father  dee'd,  and  the  Glen  didna  notis.  But  ma 
word,  they've  fund  ye  oot  at  laist,  an*  they're 
gaein*  tae  mak  ye  suffer  for  a*  yir  ill  usage.  Div 
ye  understand  noo  ?  "  said  Jamie  savagely. 

For  a  while  MacLure  was  silent,  and  then  he 
only  said : 

"  It's  little  a*  did  for  the  puir  bodies ;  but  ye  hev 
a  gude  hert,  Jamie,  a  rael  gude  hert." 

It  was  a  bitter  December  Sabbath,  and  the 
fathers  were  settling  the  affairs  of  the  parish  ankle 
deep  in  snow,  when  MacLure's  old  housekeeper 
told  Drumsheugh  that  the  doctor  was  not  able  to 
rise,  and  wished  to  see  him  in  the  afternoon. 

"  Ay,  ay,"  said  Hillocks,  shaking  his  head,  and 
that  day  Drumsheugh  omitted  four  pews  with  the 
ladle,  while  Jamie  was  so  vicious  on  the  way  home 
that  none  could  endure  him. 

Janet  had   lit  a  fire  in  the  unused  grate,  and 


THE  DOCTORS  LAST  JOURNEY.  1 99 

hung  a  plaid  by  the  window  to  break  the  power  of 
the  cruel  north  wind,  but  the  bare  room  with  its 
half  a  dozen  bits  of  furniture  and  a  worn  strip  of 
carpet,  and  the  outlook  upon  the  snow  drifted  up 
to  the  second  pane  of  the  window  and  the  black 
firs  laden  with  their  icy  burden,  sent  a  chill  to- 
Drumsheugh's  heart. 

The  doctor  had  weakened  sadly,  and  could 
hardly  lift  his  head,  but  his  face  lit  up  at  the  sight 
of  his  visitor,  and  the  big  hand,  which  was  now 
quite  refined  in  its  whiteness,  came  out  from  the 
bed-clothes  with  the  old  warm  grip. 

"  Come  in  by,  man,  and  sit  doon  ;  it's  an  awfu' 
day  tae  bring  ye  sae  far,  but  a'  kent  ye  wudna 
grudge  the  traivel. 

"  A*  wesna  sure  till  last  nicht,  an*  then  a'  felt  k 
wudna  be  lang,  an*  a*  took  a  wearyin*  this  mornin* 
tae  see  ye. 

"  We've  been  freends  sin*  we  were  laddies  at 
f  he  auld  schule  in  the  firs,  an*  a*  wud  like  ye  tae 
be  wi'  me  at  the  end.  Ye'ill  stay  the  nicht,  Pait- 
rick,  for  auld  lang  syne." 

Drumsheugh  was  much  shaken,  and  the  sound 
of  the  Christian  name,  which  he  had  not  heard 
since  his  mother's  death,  gave  him  a  "  grue " 
[shiver],  as  if  one  had  spoken  from  the  other  world. 

"It's  maist  awfu'  tae  hear  ye  speakin'  aboot  deein^ 
Weelum  ;  a'  canna  bear  it.  We'ill  hae  the  Muirtown 
doctor  up,  an*  ye'ill  be  aboot  again  in  nae  time. 

"  Ye  hevna  ony  sair  tribble ;  ye're  juist  trachled 
wi'  hard  wark  an*  needin'  a  rest.  Dinna  say  ye're 
gaein'  tae  leave  us,  Weelum  ;  we  canna  dae  with- 
oot  ye  in  Drumtochty ;  "  and  Drumsheugh  looked 
wistfully  for  some  word  of  hope. 

"  Na,  na,  Paitrick ;  naethin*  can  be  dune,  an'  it's 


200  A   DOCTOR   OF   THE  OLD  SCHOOL. 

ower  late  tae  send  for  ony  doctor.  There's  a 
knock  that  canna  be  mista'en,  an'  a'  heard  it  last 
night.  A've  focht  deith  for  ither  fouk  mair  than 
forty  year,  but  ma  ain  time  hes  come  at  laist. 

"  A've  nae  tribble  worth  mentionin* — a  bit  titch 
o'  bronchitis — an*  a've  hed  a  graund  constitution  ; 
but  a'm  fair  worn  oot,  Paitrick ;  that's  ma  com- 
plaint, an*  it's  past  curin*." 

Drumsheugh  went  over  to  the  fireplace,  and  for  a 
while  did  nothing  but  break  up  the  smouldering  peats 
whose  smoke  powerfully  affected  his  nose  and  eyes. 

"  When  ye're  ready,  Paitrick,  there's  twa  or 
three  little  trokes  a*  wud  like  ye  tae  look  aifter,  an' 
a'll  tell  ye  aboot  them  as  lang's  ma  head's  clear. 

"  A'  didna  keep  buiks,  as  ye  ken,  for  a'  aye  hed 
a  guid  memory,  so  naebody  'ill  be  harried  for 
money  aifter  ma  deith,  and  ye'ill  hae  nae  accounts 
tae  collect. 

"  But  the  fouk  are  honest  in  Drumtochty,  and 
they'ill  be  offerin'  ye  siller,  an*  a'll  gie  ye  ma  mind 
aboot  it.  Gin  it  be  a  puir  body,  tell  her  tae  keep 
it  and  get  a  bit  plaidie  wi'  the  money,  and  she'ill 
maybe  think  o'  her  auld  doctor  at  a  time.  Gin  it 
be  a  bien  [well-to-do]  man,  tak  half  of  what  he 
offers,  for  a  Drumtochty  man  wud  scorn  to  be 
mean  in  sic  circumstances  ;  and  if  onybody  needs 
a  doctor  an*  canna  pay  for  him,  see  he's  no  left  tae 
dee  when  a'm  oot  o'  the  road." 

"  Nae  fear  o'  that  as  lang  as  a'm  livin',  Weelum. 
That  hundred's  still  tae  the  fore,  ye  ken,  an*  a'll  tak 
care  it's  weel  spent. 

"  Yon  wes  the  best  job  we  ever  did  thegither, 
an'  dookin*  Saunders  ;  ye'ill  no  forget  that  nicht, 
Weelum," — a  gleam  came  into  the  doctor's  eyes, — 
"  tae  say  naethin'  o'  the  Hielan'  fling." 


THE  DOCTORS  LAST  JOURNEY.  2OI 

The  remembrance  of  that  great  victory  came 
upon  Drumsheugh,  and  tried  his  fortitude. 

"  What  'ill  become  o's  when  ye're  no  here  tae 
gie  a  hand  in  time  o'  need  ?  We'ill  tak  ill  wi'  a 
stranger  that  disna  ken  ane  o's  frae  anither." 

"  It's  a'  for  the  best,  Paitrick,  an*  ye'ill  see  that 
in  a  whilie.  A've  kent  fine  that  ma  day  wes  ower, 
an*  that  ye  sud  hae  a  younger  man. 

"  A'  did  what  a*  cud  tae  keep  up  wi'  the  new 
medicine,  but  a'  hed  little  time  for  readin',  an'  nane 
for  traivellin'. 

"  A'm  the  last  o'  the  auld  schule,  an'  a'  ken  as 
weel  as  onybody  thet  a'  wesna  sae  dainty  an'  fine- 
mannered  as  the  town  doctors.  Ye  took  me  as  a' 
wes,  an'  naebody  ever  cuist  up  tae  me  that  a'  wes 
a  plain  man.  Na,  na ;  ye've  been  rael  kind  an' 
conseederate  a*  thae  years." 

"  Weelum,  gin  ye  cairry  on  sic  nonsense  ony 
langer,"  interrupted  Drumsheugh,  huskily,  "  a'll 
leave  the  hoose  ;  a*  canna  stand  it." 

"  It's  the  truth,  Paitrick,  but  we'ill  gae  on  wi' 
our  wark,  for  a'm  failin'  fast. 

"  Gie  Janet  ony  sticks  of  furniture  she  needs  tae 
furnish  a  hoose,  and  sell  a*  thing  else  tae  pay  the 
wricht  [undertaker]  an'  bedrel  [grave-digger].  If 
the  new  doctor  be  a  young  laddie  and  no  verra 
rich,  ye  micht  let  him  hae  the  buiks  an'  instru- 
ments ;  it  'ill  aye  be  a  help. 

"  But  a'  wudna  like  ye  tae  sell  Jess,  for  she's 
been  a  faithfu'  servant,  an'  a  freend  tae.  There's 
a  note  or  twa  in  that  drawer  a*  savit,  an*  if  ye  kent 
ony  man  that  wud  gie  her  a  bite  o'  grass  and  a  sta' 
in  his  stable  till  she  followed  her  maister '* 

"Confoond  ye,  Weelum,"  broke  out  Drum* 
sheugh ;  "  its  doonricht  cruel  o'  ye  to  speak  like  this 


202  A    DOCTOR  OF  THE  OLD  SCHOOL. 

tae  me.  Whar  wud  Jess  gang  but  tae  Drum- 
sheugh  ?  She'ill  hae  her  run  of  heck  an*  manger 
sae  lang  as  she  lives ;  the  Glen  wudna  like  tae  see 
anither  man  on  Jess,  and  nae  man  'ill  ever  touch 
the  auld  mare." 

"Dinna  mind  me,  Paitrick,  for  a*  expeckit  this; 
but  ye  ken  we're  no  verra  gleg  wi*  oor  tongues  in 
Drumtochty,  an'  clinna  tell  a'  that's  in  oor  hearts. 

"  Weel,  that's  a*  that  a*  mind,  an*  the  rest  a* 
leave  tae  yersel'.  A've  neither  kith  nor  kin  tae 
bury  me,  sae  you  and  the  neeburs  'ill  need  tae 
lat  me  doon ;  but  gin  Tammas  Mitchell  or 
Saunders  be  stannin'  near  and  lookin'  as  if  they 
wud  like  a  cord,  gie't  tae  them,  Paitrick.  Their 
baith  dour  chiels,  and  haena  muckle  tae  say,  but 
Tammas  hes  a  graund  hert,  and  there's  waur  fouk 
in  the  Glen  than  Saunders. 

"  A'm  gettin*  drowsy,  an*  a'H  no  be  able  tae 
follow  ye  sune,  a*  doot ;  wud  ye  read  a  bit  tae 
me  afore  a'  fa*  ower  ? 

"  Ye'ill  find  ma  mither's  Bible  on  the  drawers' 
heid,  but  ye'ill  need  tae  come  close  tae  the  bed, 
for  a'am  no  hearin'  or  seein*  sae  weel  as  a*  wes 
when  ye  cam'/' 

Drumsheugh  put  on  his  spectacles  and  searched 
for  a  comfortable  Scripture,  while  the  light  of  the 
lamp  fell  on  his  shaking  hands  and  the  doctor's 
face,  where  the  shadow  was  now  settling, 

"  Ma  mither  aye  wantit  this  read  tae  her  when 
she  wes  sober"  [weak],  and  Drumsheugh  began, 
'•  In  My  Father's  house  are  many  mansions,"  but 
MacLure  stopped  him, 

"  It's  a  bonnie  word,  an*  yir  mither  wes  a  sanct ; 
but  it's  no  for  the  like  o'  me.  It's  ower  gude  ;  a' 
daurna  tak  it. 


THE  DOCTOR'S  LAST  JOURNEY.  203 

44  Shut  the  buik  an*  let  it  open  itsel',  an*  ye'ill  get 
a  bit  a've  been  readin'  every  nicht  the  laist  month." 

Then  Drumsheugh  found  the  Parable  wherein 
the  Master  tells  what  God  thinks  of  a  Pharisee 
and  of  a  penitent  sinner,  till  he  came  to  the  words  : 
"  And  the  publican,  standing  afar  off,  would  not  lift 
up  so  much  as  his  eyes  to  heaven,  but  smote 
upon  his  breast,  saying,  God  be  merciful  to  me  a 
sinner." 

"  That  micht  hae  been  written  for  me,  Paitrick, 
or  ony  ither  auld   sinner  that   hes  feenished   his 
^  life,  an*  hes  naething  tae  say  for  himser. 
IT  "  It  wesna  easy  for  me  tae  get  tae  kirk,  but  a' 
{  cud  hae  managed  wi'  a  stretch,  an*  a*  used  Ian- 
;  gidge  a*  sudna,  an*  a*  micht  hae  been  gentler,  and 
no  been  so  short  in  the  temper.     A'  see't  a'  noo.* 

"  It's  ower  late  tae  mend,  but  ye'ill  maybe  juist 
\  say  to  the  fouk  that  I  wes  sorry,  an*  a'm  houpin' 
that  the  Almichty  'ill  hae  mercy  on  me. 

"  Cud  ye  ...  pit  up  a  bit  prayer,  Paitrick  ?  " 

"A*  haena  the  words,"  said  Drumsheugh  in 
great  distress ;  "  wud  ye  like's  tae  send  for  the 
minister  ?  " 

"  It's  no  the  time  for  that  noo,  an*  a*  wud  rather 
hae  yersel' — juist  what's  in  yir  heart,  Paitrick  :  the 
Almichty  'ill  ken  the  lave  [rest  Himsel'." 

So  Drumsheugh  knelt  and  prayed  with  many 
pauses. 

"  Almichty  God  .  .  dinna  be  hard  on  Weelum 
MacLure,  for  he's  no  been  hard  wi'  onybody  in 
Drumtochty.  .  .  Be  kind  tae  him  as  he's  been 
tae  us  a*  for  forty  year.  .  .  We're  a'  sinners  afore 
Thee.  .  .  Forgive  him  what  he's  dune  wrang, 
an'  dinna  cuist  it  up  tae  him.  .  .  Mind  the  fouk 
he's  helpit  .  .  .  the  weemen  an'  bairnies  ...  an' 


.204  A   DOCTOR  OF  THE  OLD  SCHOOL. 

gie  him  a  welcome  hame,  for  he's  sair  needin't  aifter 
a'  his  wark.  .  .  Amen." 

"  Thank  ye,  Paitrick,  and  gude  nicht  tae  ye.  Ma 
ain  true  freend,  gie's  yir  hand,  for  a'll  maybe  no 
ken  ye  again. 

"  Noo  a'll  say  ma  mither's  prayer  and  hae  a 
sleep,  but  ye'ill  no  leave  me  till  a'  is  ower." 

Then  he  repeated  as  he  had  done  every  night  of 
his  life : 

44  This  night  I  lay  me  down  to  sleep, 
I  pray  the  Lord  my  soul  to  keep, 
And  if  I  die  before  I  wake, 
I  pray  the  Lord  my  soul  to  take." 

He  was  sleeping  quietly  when  the  wind  drove  the 
snow  against  the  window  with  a  sudden  "  swish  ;  " 
and  he  instantly  awoke,  so  to  say,  in  his  sleep. 
Someone  needed  him. 

"  Are  ye  frae  Glen  Urtach  ?  "  and  an  unheard 
voice  seemed  to  have  answered  him. 

"  Worse  is  she,  an'  sufferin'  awfu' ;  that's  no 
lichtsome ;  ye  did  richt  tae  come. 

"The  front  door's  drifted  up;  gang roond tae  the 
back,  an*  ye'ill  get  intae  the  kitchen ;  a'll  be  ready 
in  a  meenut. 

"  Gie/s  a  hand  wi'  the  lantern  when  a'm  saidling 
Jess,  an*  ye  needna  come  on  till  daylicht ;  a'  ken 
the  road." 

Then  he  was  away  in  his  sleep  on  some  errand 
of  mercy,  and  struggling  through  the  storm. 

"  It's  a  coorse  nicht,  Jess,  an*  heavy  traivellin'; 
can  ye  see  afore  ye,  lass  ?  for  a'm  clean  confused 
wi'  the  snaw  ;  bide  a  wee  till  a'  find  the  diveesion 
o'  the  roads  ;  it's  aboot  here  back  or  forrit. 

"  Steady,  lass,  steady,  dinna  plunge  ;  it's  a  drift 


THE  DOCTOR'S  LAST  JOURNEY.  2p5 

we're  in,  but  ye're  no  sinkin' ;  ...  up  noo ;  .  .  . 
there  ye  are  on  the  road  again. 

"  Eh,  it's  deep  the  nicht,  an'  hard  on  us  baith, 
but  there's  a  puir  wumman  micht  dee  if  we  didna 
warstle  through ;  .  .  .  that's  it ;  ye  ken  fine 
what  a'm  sayin'. 

"  We'ill  hae  tae  leave  the  road  here,  an'  tak  tae 
the  muir.  Sandie  'ill  no  can  leave  the  wife  alane 
tae  meet  us  ;  ...  feel  for  yersel',  lass,  and  keep 
oot  o'  the  holes. 

"  Yon's  the  hoose,  black  in  the  snaw.  Sandie  ! 
man,  ye  frichtened  us  ;  a'  didna  see  ye  ahint  the 
dyke  ;  hoo's  the  wife?  " 

After  a  while  he  began  again  : 

"  Ye're  fair  dune,  Jess,  and  so  a'  am  masel' ; 
we're  baith  gettin'  auld,  an'  dinna  tak  sae  weel  wi' 
the  nicht  wark. 

"  We'ill  sune  be  hame  noo  ;  this  is  the  black 
wood,  and  it's  no  lang  aifter  that ;  we're  ready  for 
oor  beds,  Jess  ;  ...  ay,  ye  like  a  clap  at  a  time  ; 
mony  a  mile  we've  gaed  thegither. 

"Yon's  the  licht  in  the  kitchen  window;  nae 
wonder  ye're  nickering  [neighing] ;  .  .  .  it's 
been  a  stiff  journey ;  a'm  tired,  lass  .  .  .  a'm 
tired  tae  deith,"  and  the  voice  died  into  silence. 

Drumsheugh  held  his  friend's  hand,  which  now 
and  again  tightened  in  his,  and  as  he  watched,  a 
change  came  over  the  face  on  the  pillow  beside 
him.  The  lines  of  weariness  disappeared,  as  if 
God's  hand  had  passed  over  it ;  and  peace  began 
to  gather  round  the  closed  eyes. 

The  doctor  has  forgotten  the  toil  of  later  years, 
and  has  gone  back  to  his  boyhood. 

"  The  Lord's  my  Shepherd,  I'll  not  want," 


206  A   DOCTOR  OF  THE  OLD  SCHOOL. 

he  repeated,  till  he  came  to  the  last  verse,  and  then 
he  hesitated. 

"  '  Goodness  and  mercy  all  my  life 
Shall  surely  follow  me.' 

"Follow  me  .  .  .  and  .  .  .  and  .  .  .  what's  next? 
Mither  said  I  wes  tae  hae't  ready  when  she  cam'. 

"  *  A'll  come  afore  ye  gang  tae  sleep,  Wullie,  but 
ye'ill  no  get  yir  kiss  unless  ye  canfeenish  the  psalm.' 

"  And  ...  in  God's  house  ...  for  evermore 
my  .  .  .  hoo  clis  it  rin  ?  a'  canna  mind  the  next 
word  .  .  .  my,  my 

"  It's  ower  dark  noo  tae  read  it,  an'  mither  'ill 
sune  be  comin'." 

Drumsheugh,  in  an  agony,  whispered  into  his 
ear,  "  '  My  dwelling-place,'  Weelum.'' 

"  That's  it,  that's  it  a'  noo ;  wha  said  it  ? 

44  *  And  in  God's  house  for  evermore 
My  dwelling-place  shall  be.' 

"  A'm  ready  noo,  an'  a'll  get  ma  kiss  when 
mither  comes ;  a'  wish  she  wud  come,  for  a'm 
tired  an*  wantin'  tae  sleep. 

"  Yon's  her  step  .  .  .  an'  she's  carryin'  a  licht  in 
her  hand ;  a'  see  it  through  the  door. 

"  Mither !  a'  kent  ye  wudna  forget  yir  laddie,  for 
ye  promised  tae  come,  and  a've  feenished  ma  psalm. 

"  '  And  in  God's  house  for  evermore 
My  dwelling-place  shall  be.' 

"  Gie  me  the  kiss,  mither,  for  a've  been  waitin' 
for  ye,  an'  a'll  sune  be  asleep." 

The  gray  morning  light  fell  on  Drumsheugh, 
still  holding  his  friend's  cold  hand,  and  staring 
at  a  hearth  where  the  fire  had  died  down  into 
white  ashes ;  but  the  peace  on  the  doctor's  face 
was  of  one  who  rested  from  his  labours. 


V. 

THE  MOURNING  OF  THE  GLEN. 

DR.  MACLURE  was  buried  during  the  great 
snowstorm,  which  is  still  spoken  of,  and  will 
remain  the  standard  of  snowfall  in  Drumtochty 
for  the  century.  The  snow  was  deep  on  the 
Monday,  and  the  men  that  gave  notice  of  his 
funeral  had  hard  work  to  reach  the  doctor's  dis- 
tant patients.  On  Tuesday  morning  it  began  to 
fall  again  in  heavy,  fleecy  flakes,  and  continued 
till  Thursday,  and  then  on  Thursday  the  north 
wind  rose  and  swept  the  snow  into  the  hollows  of 
the  roads  that  went  to  the  upland  farms,  and  built 
it  into  a  huge  bank  at  the  mouth  of  Glen  Urtach, 
and  laid  it  across  our  main  roads  in  drifts  of  every 
size  and  the  most  lovely  shapes,  and  filled  up 
crevices  in  the  hills  to  the  depth  of  fifty  feet. 

On  Friday  morning  the  wind  had  sunk  to  pass- 
ing gusts  that  powdered  your  coat  with  white,  and 
the  sun  was  shining  on  one  of  those  winter  land- 
scapes no  townsman  can  imagine  and  no  country- 
man ever  forgets.  The  Glen,  from  end  to  end  and 
side  to  side,  was  clothed  in  a  glistering  mantle 
white  as  no  fuller  on  earth  could  white  it,  that 
flung  its  skirts  over  the  clumps  of  trees  and 
scattered  farmhouses,  and  was  only  divided  where 
the  Tochty  ran  with  black,  swollen  stream.  The 
great  moor  rose  and  fell  in  swelling  billows  of 
snow  that  arched  themselves  over  the  burns, 
running  deep  in  the  mossy  ground,  and  hid  the 


208  A  DOCTOR  OF  THE  OLD  SCHOOL. 

black  peat  bogs  with  a  thin,  treacherous  crust. 
Beyond  the  hills  northwards  and  westwards  stood 
high  in  white  majesty,  save  where  the  black  crags 
of  Glen  Urtach  broke  the  line,  and,  above  our  lower 
Grampians,  we  caught  glimpses  of  the  distant 
peaks  that  lifted  their  heads  in  holiness  unto  God. 

It  seemed  to  me  a  fitting  day  for  William 
MacLure's  funeral,  rather  than  summer  time, 
with  its  flowers  and  golden  corn.  He  had  not 
been  a  soft  man,  nor  had  he  lived  an  easy  life,  and 
now  he  was  to  be  laid  to  rest  amid  the  austere 
majesty  of  winter,  yet  in  the  shining  of  the  sun. 
Jamie  Soutar,  with  whom  I  toiled  across  the  Glen, 
did  not  think  with  me,  but  was  gravely  concerned. 

"  Nae  doot  it's  a  graund  s'cht ;  the  like  o't  is  no 
gien  tae  us  twice  in  a  generation,  an'  nae  king  wes 
ever  carried  tae  his  tomb  in  sic  a  cathedral. 

"  But  it's  the  fouk  a'm  conseederin',  ae'  hoo  they 
'ill  win  through ;  it's  hard  eneuch  for  them  'at's  on 
the  road,  an'  it's  clean  impossible  for  the  lave. 

"  They'ill  dae  their  best,  every  man  o'  them,  ye 
may  depend  on  that,  an'  hed  it  been  open  weather 
there  wudna  hev  been  six  able-bodied  men  missin'. 

"  A'  wes  mad  at  them,  because  they  never  said 
onything  when  he  wes  leevin',  but  they  felt  for  a' 
that  what  he  hed  dune,  an',  a'  think,  he  kent  it 
afore  he  deed. 

"  He  hed  juist  ae  faut,  tae  ma  thinkin',  fer  a' 
never  jidged  the  waur  o'  him  for  his  titch  of  roch- 
ness — guid  trees  hae  gnarled  bark — but  he  thocht 
ower  little  o'  himsel'. 

"Noo,  gin  a'  hed  asked  him  hoo  mony  fouk  wud 
come  tae  his  beerial,  he  wud  hae  said,  '  They'ill 
be  Drumsheugh  an'  yersel',  an'  maybe  twa  or  three 
neeburs  besides  the  minister,'  an'  the  fact  is  that 


THE  MOURNING  OF   THE   GLEN.  20Q 

nae  man  in  oor  time  wud  hae  sic  a  githerin'  if  it 
werena  for  the  storm. 

"  Ye  see,"  said  Jamie,  who  had  been  counting 
heads  all  morning,  "  there's  six  shepherds  in  Glen 
Urtach — they're  shut  up  fast :  an'  there  micht 
hae  been  a  gude  half  dizen  frae  Dunleith  wy, 
an'  a'm  telt  there's  nae  road  ;  an'  there's  the  heich 
Glen,  nae  man  cud  cross  the  muir  the  day,  an'  it's 
aucht  mile  roond ; "  and  Jamie  proceeded  to  re- 
view the  Glen  in  every  detail  of  age,  driftiness  of 
road  and  strength  of  body,  till  we  arrived  at  the 
doctor's  cottage,  when  he  had  settled  on  a  reduc- 
tion of  fifty  through  stress  of  weather. 

Drumsheugh  was  acknowledged  as  chief  mourner 
by  the  Glen,  and  received  us  at  the  gate  with  a 
laboured  attempt  at  everyday  manners. 

"  Ye've  hed  heavy  traivellin',  a'  doot,  an'  ye'ill  be 
cauld.  It's  hard  weather  for  the  sheep,  an'  a'm 
thinkin'  this  'ill  be  a  feeding  storm. 

"  There  wes  nae  use  trying  tae  dig  oot  the  front 
door  yestreen,  for  it  would  hae  been  drifted  up 
again  before  morning.  We've  cleared  awa  the 
snow  at  the  back  for  the  prayer  ;  ye'ill  get  in  at  the 
kitchen  door. 

"  There's  a  puckle  Dunleith  men " 

"  Wha  !  "  cried  Jamie  in  an  instant. 

"  Dunleith  men,"  said  Drumsheugh. 

"  Div  ye  mean  they're  here,  whar  are  they  ?  " 

"  Drying  themsel's  at  the  fire,  an'  no  withoot 
need ;  ane  o'  them  gied  ower  the  head  in  a  drift, 
and  his  neeburs  hed  tae  pu'  him  oot. 

"  It  took  them  a  gude  fower  oors  tae  gfet  across, 
an'  it  wes  coorse  wark ;  they  likit  him  weel  doon 
that  wy,  an',  Jamie  man," — here  Drumsheugh's 
voice  changed  its  note,  and  his  public  manner  dis- 


210  A   DOCTOR  OF  THE  OLD  SCHOOL. 

appeared — "  what  div  ye  think  o'  this?  every  man 
o'  them  hes  on  his  blacks." 

"  It's  mair  than  cud  be  expeckit,"  said  Jamie ; 
"  but  whar  dae  yon  men  come  frae,  Drumsheugh  ?  " 

Two  men  in  plaids  were  descending  the  hill  be- 
hind the  doctor's  cottage,  taking  three  feet  at  a 
stride,  and  carrying  long  staffs  in  their  hands. 

"  They're  Glen  Urtach  men,  Jamie,  for  ane  o' 
them  wes  at  Kildrummie  fair  wi'  sheep,  but  hoo 
they've  wun  doon  passes  me." 

"  It  canna  be,  Drumsheugh,"  said  Jamie,  greatly 
excited.  "  Glen  Urtach's  steikit  up  wi'  sna'  like  a 
locked  door. 

"  Ye're  no  surely  frae  the  Glen,  lads  ?  "  as  the 
men  leaped  the  dyke  and  crossed  to  the  back  door, 
the  snow  falling  from  their  plaids  as  they  walked. 

"  We're  that,  an'  nae  mistak,  but  a'  thocht  we 
wud  be  lickit  ae  place,  eh,  Charlie?  a'm  no  sae 
weel  acquant  wi'  the  hill  on  this  side,  an'  there  wer 
some  kittle  [hazardous]  drifts." 

"  It  wes  grand  o'  ye  tae  mak  the  attempt,"  said 
Drumsheugh,  "  an'  a'm  gled  ye're  safe." 

"  He  cam'  through  as  bad  himsel'  tae  help  my 
wife,"  was  Charlie's  reply. 

"  They're  three  mair  Urtach  shepherds  'ill  come 
in  by  sune  ;  they're  frae  Upper  Urtach,  an*  we  saw 
them  fordin'  the  river ;  ma  certes,  it  took  them  a' 
their  time,  for  it  wes  up  tae  their  waists  and  rinnin' 
like  a  mill  lade,  but  they  jined  hands  and  cam* 
ower  fine."  And  the  Urtach  men  went  in  to  the  fire. 

The  Glen  began  to  arrive  in  twos  and  threes,  and 
Jamie,  from  a  point  of  vantage  at  the  gate,  and 
under  an  appearance  of  utter  indifference,  checked 
his  roll  till  even  he  was  satisfied. 

"  Weelum  MacLure  '11  hae  the  beerial  he  deserves 


THE  MOURNING  OF  THE  GLEN.  211 

in  spite  o'  sna'  and  drifts  ;  it  passes  a'  tae  see  hoo 
they've  githered  frae  far  an'  near. 

"  A'm  thinkin  ye  can  colleck  them  for  the  min- 
ister noo,  Drumsheugh.  A'body's  here  except  the 
heich  Glen,  an'  we  mauna  luke  for  them." 

"  Dinna  be  sae  sure  o'  that,  Jamie.  Yon's 
terrible  like  them  on  the  road,  wi'  Whinnie  at  their 
head  ;  "  and  so  it  was,  twelve  in  all,  only  old  Adam 
Ross  absent,  detained  by  force,  being  eighty-two 
years  of  age. 

"  It  wud  hae  been  temptin'  Providence  tae  cross 
the  muir,"  Whinnie  explained,  "  and  it's  a  fell  stap 
roond  ;  a'  doot  we're  laist." 

"  See,  Jamie,"  said  Drumsheugh,  as  he  went  to  the 
house,  "  gin  there  beony  antern  body  in  sicht  afore 
we  begin  ;  we  maun  mak  allooances  the  day  wi'  twa 
feet  o'  sna'  on  the  grund,  tae  say  naethin'  o'  drifts." 

"  There's  somethin'  at  the  turnin',  an'  it's  no 
fouk  ;  it's  a  machine  o'  some  kind  or  ither — maybe 
a  bread  cart  that's  focht  it's  wy  up." 

"  Na,  it's  no  that ;  there's  tvva  horses,  ane  afore 
the  ither ;  if  it's  no  a  dogcairt  wi'  twa  men  in  the 
front ;  they 'ill  be  comin'  tae  the  beerial." 

"  What  wud  ye  sae,  Jamie,"  Hillocks  suggested, 
"  but  it  micht  be  some  o'  thae  Muirtown  doctors? 
they  were  awfu'  chief  wi'  MacLure." 

"  It's  nae  Muirtown  doctors,"  cried  Jamie,  in 
great  exultation,  "  nor  ony  ither  doctors.  A'  ken 
thae  horses,  and  wha's  ahint  them.  Quick,  man, 
Hillocks,  stop  the  fouk,  and  tell  Drumsheugh  tae 
come  oot,  for  Lord  Kilspindie  hes  come  up  frae 
Muirtown  Castle." 

Jamie  himself  slipped  behind,  and  did  not  wish 
to  be  seen. 

"  It's  the  respeck  he's  gettin'  the  day  frae  high 


212  A   DOCTOR   OF  THE  OLD  SCHOOL. 

an'  low,"  was  Jamie's  husky  apology  ;  "  tae  think 
o'  them  fechtin'  their  wy  doon  frae  Glen  Urtach, 
and  toilin'  roond  frae  the  heich  Glen,  an'  his  lord- 
ship drivin'  through  the  drifts  a'  the  road  frae  Muir- 
town,  juist  tae  honour  Weelum  MacLure's  beerial. 

"  It's  nae  ceremony  the  day,  ye  may  lippen  tae 
it ;  it's  the  hert  brocht  the  fouk,  an'  ye  can  see  it 
in  their  faces  ;  ilka  man  hes  his  ain  reason,  an'  he's 
thinkin'  on't,  though  he's  speakin'  o'  naethin'  but 
the  storm  ;  he's  mindin'  the  day  Weelum  pued  him 
oot  frae  the  jaws  o'  death,  or  the  nicht  he  savit 
the  gude  wife  in  her  oor  o'  tribble. 

"  That's  why  they  pit  on  their  blacks  this 
mornin'  afore  it  wes  licht,  and  warstled  through 
the  sna'  drifts  at  risk  o'  life.  Drumtochty  fouk 
canna  say  muckle,  it's  an  awfu'  peety,  and  they 
'ill  dae  their  best  tae  show  naethin',  but  a'  can 
read  it  a'  in  their  een. 

"  "  But  wae's  me " — and  Jamie  broke  down 
utterly  behind  a  fir  tree,  so  tender  a  thing  is  a 
cynic's  heart — "  that  fouk  'ill  tak  a  man's  best 
wark  a'  his  days  withoot  a  word  an*  no  dae  him 
honour  till  he  dees.  Oh,  if  they  hed  only  githered 
like  this  juist  aince  when  he  wes  livin',  an'  lat  him 
see  he  hedna  laboured  in  vain.  His  reward  hes 
come  ower  late,  ower  late."  TT~' 

During  Jamie's  vain  regret,  the  Castle  trap, 
bearing  the  marks  of  a  wild  passage  in  the  snow- 
covered  wheels,  a  broken  shaft  tied  with  rope,  a 
twisted  lamp,  and  the  panting  horses,  pulled  up 
between  two  rows  of  farmers,  and  Drumsheugh 
received  his  lordship  with  evident  emotion. 

"  Ma  lord  ...  we  never  thocht  o'  this  .  .  . 
an*  sic  a  road." 

"  How  are  you,  Drumsheugh  ?  and  how  are  you 


THE  MOURNING  OF  THE  GLEN.  213 

all  this  wintry  day?  That's  how  I'm  half  an  hour 
late ;  it  took  us  four  hours'  stiff  work  for  sixteen 
miles,  mostly  in  the  drifts,  of  course." 

"  It  wes  gude  o'  yir  lordship  tae  mak'  sic  an 
effort,  an'  the  hale  Glen  wull  be  gratefu'  tae  ye, 
for  ony  kindness  tae  him  is  kindness  tae  us." 

"You  make  too  much  of  it,  Drumsheugh,"and  the 
clear,  firm  voice  was  heard  of  all ;  "  it  would  have 
taken  more  than  a  few  snowdrifts  to  keep  me  from 
showing  my  respect  to  William  MacLure's  memory." 

When  all  had  gathered  in  a  half  circle  before  the 
kitchen  door,  Lord  Kilspindie  came  out — every 
man  noticed  he  had  left  his  overcoat,  and  was  in 
black,  like  the  Glen — and  took  a  place  in  the 
middle  with  Drumsheugh  and  Burnbrae,  his  two 
chief  tenants,  on  the  right  and  left,  and  as  the 
minister  appeared  every  man  bared  his  head. 

The  doctor  looked  on  the  company — a  hundred 
men  such  as  for  strength  and  gravity  you  could 
hardly  have  matched  in  Scotland — standing  out  in 
picturesque  relief  against  the  white  background, 
and  he  said  : 

"  It's  a  bitter  day,  friends,  and  some  of  you  are 
old  ;  perhaps  it  might  be  wise  to  cover  your  heads 
before  I  begin  to  pray." 

Lord  Kilspindie,  standing  erect  and  gray-headed 
between  the  two  old  men,  replied  : 

"  We  thank  you,  Dr.  Davidson,  for  your  thought- 
fulness  ;  but  he  endured  many  a  storm  in  our  serv- 
ice, and  we  are  not  afraid  of  a  few  minutes'  cold 
at  his  funeral.'' 

A  look  flashed  round  the  stern  faces,  and  was  re- 
flected from  the  minister,  who  seemed  to  stand 
higher. 

His  prayer,  we  noticed  with  critical  apprecia- 


214  A   DOCTOR  OF  THE  OLD  SCHOOL. 

tion,  was  composed  for  the  occasion,  and  the  first 
part  was  a  thanksgiving  to  God  for  the  life-work 
of  our  doctor,  wherein  each  clause  was  a  reference 
to  his  services  and  sacrifices.  No  one  moved  or 
said  Amen, — it  had  been  strange  with  us, — but 
when  every  man  had  heard  the  gratitude  of  his  dumb 
heart  offered  to  Heaven,  there  was  a  great  sigh. 

After  which  the  minister  prayed  that  we  might 
have  grace  to  live  as  this  man  had  done  from 
youth  to  old  age,  not  for  himself,  but  for  others, 
and  that  we  might  be  followed  to  our  grave  by 
somewhat  of  "  that  love  wherewith  we  mourn  this 
day  Thy  servant  departed."  Again  the  same  sigh, 
and  the  minister  said  Amen. 

The  "  wricht"  stood  in  the  doorway  without  speak- 
ing,and  four  stalwart  men  came  forward.  They  were 
the  volunteers  that  would  lift  the  coffin  and  carry  it- 
for  the  first  stage.  One  was  Tammas,  Annie  Mitch- 
ell's man  ;  and  another  was  Saunders  Baxter,  for 
whose  life  MacLure  had  his  great  fight  with  Death  ; 
and  the  third  was  the  Glen  Urtach  shepherd  for 
whose  wife's  sake  MacLure  suffered  a  broken  leg 
and  three  fractured  ribs  in  a  drift ;  and  the  fourth,  a 
Dunleith  man,  had  his  own  reasons  of  remembrance. 

"  He's  far  lichter  than  ye  wud  expeck  for  sae 
big  a  man — there  wesna  muckle  left  o'  him,  ye 
see— but  the  road  is  heavy,  and  a'll  change  ye 
aifter  the  first  half  mile." 

"  Ye  needna  tribble  yerself,  wricht,"  said  the 
man  from  Glen  Urtach  ;  "  the'ill  be  nae  change  in 
the  cairryin'  the  day,"  and  Tammas  was  thankful 
someone  had  saved  him  speaking. 

Surely  no  funeral  is  like  unto  that  of  a  doctor 
for  pathos,  and  a  peculiar  sadness  fell  on  that 
company  as  his  body  was  carried  out  who  for 


THE  MOURNING  OF  THE  GLEN.  21$ 

nearly  half  a  century  had  been  their  help  in  sickness, 
and  had  beaten  back  Death  time  after  time  from 
their  door.  Death  after  all  was  victor,  for  the  man 
that  saved  them  had  not  been  able  to  save  himself. 

As  the  coffin  passed  the  stable  door  a  horse 
neighed  within,  and  every  man  looked  at  his  neigh- 
bour. It  was  his  old  mare  crying  to  her  master. 

Jamie  slipped  into  the  stable,  and  went  up  into 
the  stall. 

"  Puir  lass,  ye're  no  gaein'  wi'  him  the  day,  an 
ye'ill  never  see  him  again  ;  ye've  hed  yir  last  ride 
thegither,  an'  ye  were  true  tae  the  end." 

After  the  funeral  Drumsheugh  came  himself  for 
Jess,  and  took  her  to  his  farm.  Saunders  made  a 
bed  for  her  with  soft,  dry  straw,  and  prepared  for 
her  supper  such  things  as  horses  love.  Jess  would 
"neither  take  food  nor  rest,  but  moved  uneasily  in 
her  stall,  and  seemed  to  be  waiting  for  someone 
that  never  came.  No  man  knows  what  a  horse  or 
a  dog  understands  and  feels,  for  God  hath  not 
given  them  our  speech.  If  any  footstep  was  heard 
in  the  courtyard,  she  began  to  neigh,  and  was 
always  looking  around  as  the  door  opened.  But 
nothing  would  tempt  her  to  eat,  and  in  the  night- 
time Drumsheugh  heard  her  crying  as  if  she  ex- 
pected to  be  taken  out  for  some  sudden  journey. 
The  Kildrummie  veterinary  came  to  see  her,  and 
said  that  nothing  could  be  done  when  it  happened 
after  this  fashion  with  an  old  horse. 

"  A've  seen  it  aince  afore,"  he  said.  "  Gin  she 
were  a  Christian  instead  o'  a  horse,  ye  micht  say 
she  was  dying  o'  a  broken  hert. " 

He  recommended  that  she  should  be  shot  to  end 
her  misery,  but  no  man  could  be  found  in  the  Glen 
to  do  the  deed,  and  Jess  relieved  them  of  the 


216  A   DOCTOR   OF  THE  OLD  SCHOOL. 

trouble.  When  Drumsheugh  went  to  the  stable 
on  Monday  morning,  a  week  after  Dr.  MacLure 
fell  on  sleep,  Jess  was  resting  at  last,  but  her  eyes 
were  open  and  her  face  turned  to  the  door. 

"  She  wes  a'  the  wife  he  hed,"  said  Jamie,  as 
he  rejoined  the  procession,  "  an'  they  luved  ane 
anither  weel." 

The  black  thread  wound  itself  along  the  white- 
ness of  the  Glen,  the  coffin  first,  with  his  lordship 
and  Drumsheugh  behind,  and  the  others  as  they 
pleased,  but  in  closer  ranks  than  usual,  because 
the  snow  on  either  side  was  deep,  and  because 
this  was  not  as  other  funerals.  They  could  see 
the  women  standing  at  the  door  of  every  house  on 
the  hillside,  and  weeping,  for  each  family  had  some 
good  reason  in  forty  years  to  remember  MacLure. 
When  Bell  Baxter  saw  Saunders  alive;  and  the 
coffin  of  the  doctor  that  saved  him  on  her  man's 
shoulder,  she  bowed  her  head  on  the  dyke,  and  the 
bairns  in  the  village  made  such  a  wail  for  him  they 
loved  that  the  men  nearly  disgraced  themselves. 

"  A'm  gled  we're  through  that,  at  ony  rate," 
said  Hillocks  ;  "  he  wes  awfu'  taen  up  wi'  the 
bairns,  conseederin'  he  hed  nane  o'  his  ain." 

There  was  only  one  drift  on  the  road  between 
his  cottage  and  kirkyard,  and  it  had  been  cut  early 
that  morning. 

Before  daybreak  Saunders  had  roused  the  lads 
in  the  bothy,  and  they  had  set  to  work  by  the  light 
of  lanterns  with  such  good  will  that,  when 
Drumsheugh  came  down  to  engineer  a  circuit  for 
the  funeral,  there  was  a  fair  passage,  with  walls  of 
snow  twelve  feet  high  on  either  side. 

"  Man,  Saunders,"  he  said,  "  this  wes  a  kind 
thocht,  and  rael  weel  dune." 


THE  MOURNING  OF  THE  GLEN.  217 

Bnt  Saunders'  only  reply  was  this  : 

"  Mony  a  time  he's  hed  tae  gang  roond;  he  micht 
as  weel  hae  an  open  road  for  his  last  traivel." 

When  the  coffin  was  laid  down  at  the  mouth  of 
the  grave,  the  only  blackness  in  the  white  kirkyard. 
Tammas  Mitchell  did  the  most  beautiful  thing  in 
all  his  life.  He  knelt  down  and  carefully  wiped 
off  the  snow  the  wind  had  blown  upon  the  coffin, 
and  which  had  covered  the  name,  and  when  he 
had  done  this  he  disappeared  behind  the  others, 
so  that  Drumsheugh  could  hardly  find  him  to  take 
a  cord.  For  these  were  the  eight  that  buried  Dr. 
MacLure — Lord  Kilspindie  at  the  head  as  landlord 
and  Drumsheugh  at  the  feet  as  his  friend  ;  the  two 
ministers  of  the  parish  came  first  on  the  right  and 
laft ;  then  Burnbrae  and  Hillocks  of  the  farmers, 
and  Saunders  and  Tammas  for  the  ploughmen.  So 
the  Glen  he  loved  laid  him  to  rest. 

When  the  bedrel  had  finished  his  work  and 
the  turf  had  been  spread,  Lord  Kilspindie  spoke : 

"  Friends  of  Drumtochty,  it  would  not  be  right 
that  we  should  part  in  silence  and  no  man  say 
what  is  in  every  heart.  We  have  buried  the  re- 
mains of  one  that  served  this  Glen  with  a  devotion 
that  has  known  no  reserve,  and  a  kindliness  that 
never  failed,  for  more  than  forty  years.  I  have 
seen  many  brave  men  in  my  day,  but  no  man  in 
the  trenches  of  Sebastopol  carried  himself  more 
knightly  than  William  MacLure.  You  will  never 
have  heard  from  his  lips  what  I  may  tell  you  to- 
day, that  my  father  secured  for  him  a  valuable  post 
in  his  younger  days,  and  he  preferred  to  work 
among  his  own  people ;  and  I  wished  to  do  many 
things  for  him  when  he  was  old,  but  he  would 
have  nothing  for  himself.  He  will  never  be  forgot- 


•218  A   DOCTOR  OF   THE  OLD  SCHOOL. 

ten  while  one  of  us  lives,  and  I  pray  that  all  doctors 
•everywhere  may  share  his  spirit.  If  it  be  your  pleas- 
ure, I  shall  erect  a  cross  above  his  grave  and  shall 
ask  my  old  friend  and  companion  Dr.  Davidson, 
your  minister,  to  choose  the  text  to  be  inscribed," 

"We  thank  you,  Lord  Kilspindie,"  said  the  doc- 
tor, "  for  your  presence  with  us  in  our  sorrow  and 
your  tribute  to  the  memory  of  William  MacLure, 
and  I  choose  this  for  his  text  : 

"  *  Greater  love  hath  no  man  than  this,  that  a  \ 
man  lay  down  his  life  for  his  friends.' " 

Milton  was,  at  that  time,  held  in  the  bonds  of 
a  very  bitter  theology,  and  his  indignation  was 
stirred  by  this  unqualified  eulogium. 

"  No  doubt  Dr.  MacLure  hed  mony  natural  vir- 
tues, an'  he  did  his  wark  weel,  but  it  was  a  peety 
he  didna  mak  mair  profession  o'  releegion." 

"  When  William  MacLure  appears  before  the 
Judge,  Milton,"  said  Lachlan  Campbell,  who  that 
day  spoke  his  last  words  in  public,  and  they  were  in 
defence  of  charity,  "  He  will  not  be  asking  him  about 
his  professions,  for  the  doctor's  judgment  hass  been 
ready  long  ago ;  and  it  iss  a  good  judgment,  and 
you  and  I  will  be  happy  men  if  we  get  the  like  of  it. 

"  It  iss  written  in  the  Gospel,  but  it  iss  William 
MacLure  that  will  not  be  expecting  it." 

"What  is't,  Lachlan?"  asked  Jamie  Souter  eagerly. 

The  old  man,  now  very  feeble,  stood  in  the  mid- 
dle of  the  road,  and  his  face,  once  so  hard,  was 
softened  into  a  winsome  tenderness, 

"  '  Come,  ye  blessed  of  My  father  ...  I  was 
sick,  and  ye  visited  Me.'  " 


14  DAY  USE 

fRN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT 


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